Monday Monday
by Torithy
Summary: In the aftermath of season five, Litchfield tries to get back to business as usual - but with a new counsellor sent to deal with the fall-out of recent traumatic events. Mondays suck, but they're all some people have to work with ... (Ensemble cast)
1. Managing Expectations

**Author's Note: My first attempt at an OITNB fic, so I'd love to know what you think!**

 **This is set shortly after the events of season 5 and will contain major spoilers right through to the finale. I know there's already been a lot of speculation about what happens next, who the main characters will be for the next season, and where they will end up. Instead of trying to come up with the most likely scenario, I've just gone for the most convenient in order to still feature a lot of familiar faces (more will feature than just those tagged) and so, we're back at a rebuilt/refurbished Litchfield. I guess instead of thinking of this as an attempt at season 6, it's more like 5B ...**

 **With that said, the first part's just a shorter kinda set-up for what lies ahead and to gauge interest. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 **Monday Monday**

 **1\. Managing Expectations**

"Just so I'm real clear on this … You expect me to cut through whatever psychological trauma the last few months may have inflicted, to say nothing of decades of neglect of underlying issues, in _one_ day?"

Natalie Figueroa smiled tightly at the woman sat across the desk from her. The younger, fresher-faced, fuller-lipped woman, she reluctantly noted, as her own lips threatened to curl from a fake smile into a full-blown snarl. But only in the split second before any shred of open hostility was quickly smothered like an illicit orgasm.

She knew better than to appear threatened, god forbid. And, if nothing else, there were few things more unattractive than resentment shrouded in jealousy.

Besides, now that she was back calling the shots, she would be keeping everyone else right where they belonged. Inmates, guards, do-gooder counsellors … It didn't matter. There was room for all of them, pinned firmly under the heel of her glossy Louboutin shoe.

Oh, she would remain the consummate professional. For now. All she had to do was make sure the only green eyes in the room were those clear, kohl-rimmed, and gazing back at her expectantly.

There would be time enough to play hardball.

"One day _a week_ ," she corrected, in a bright tone that brooked no argument. "Mondays to be specific. Start the week off on the right foot, so to speak. Now, we'll be offering an initial six-week trial period-"

"But, Ms Figueroa, that just isn't enough time to even …"

A scathing look was enough for the half-assed protest attempt to trail off, although the newly instated warden was not at all liking the look she was getting back. It seemed bemused at best, when frankly she'd been hoping for … cowed.

"Look, let's not buy into a narrative of negativity here," she said, smile still frozen in place, although trying to stay just shy of icy. It didn't serve to overplay your hand this early in the game. A little aloof patronising couldn't hurt though. It was best to show who's boss right from the get-go. "I don't know what you're used to, but this is a prison, Miss Ford. We're not here to stroke the hair of these women and tell them: 'There, there.'"

"Of course not," came the easy response, complete with infuriating shrug. "Just to keep a lid on any mental health concerns that may escalate into, oh say, another uncontrollable riot situation where people end up dead, for example. And you wouldn't want that. I mean, one's unfortunate. Two could start to look … sloppy."

Fig's eyes narrowed dangerously. Was this bitch, in her enviably skinny grey jeans, actually biting back against her authority when she was barely in the door? She was going to have enough on her plate with a demoted Caputo acting like a grudge-harbouring little girl without some wannabe shrink making life difficult as well.

But, just as quick as it had flickered into view, that glimmer of something that might have been hidden steel was gone like it had never even been there.

"Hey, I get it though," the blonde said, as seemingly warm and open as ever. It probably would have proved disarming to anyone else, but only served to heighten the suspicions of her reluctant new boss.

And sure enough, brushing a stray lock of that stylishly rumpled ponytail back from her face, she somehow hit nought to sixty in the heartbeat that followed.

"Resources are always scarce and we all have to learn to cut our cloth to suit, right? So, Mondays it is. And I was thinking maybe I could get a head start today, talk to the corrections officers, race through a few preliminary assessments, work out the priority cases, and we could start that six-week stretch fresh _next_ week? I'll report back at the end of the day. Thanks for your time, Natalie. I can call you Natalie, right?"

"Uh, sure …"

"Dallas. No, don't worry, I'm sure I'll find my own way around. Catch you later."

"Lat-"

Litchfield Penitentiary's newest counsellor was already hustling her tight little backside out the door.

Dallas Ford.

What the fuck was that anyway, her porn star name?

* * *

 **To be continued ...**

Next time, word about the new counsellor hits the halls of Litchfield - and the staff room.


	2. Just Another Band-Aid

**2\. Just Another Band-Aid**

The entire place still reeked of fresh paint.

Any visitors might well have been impressed by the attention to upkeep - but only if they didn't know it had been a hasty band-aid job to cover the mess left behind in the aftermath of a wholescale prison riot that had left two correctional officers dead. To say nothing of the inmate who'd had the life squashed out of her as if she were no better than a bug, sparking this _clusterfuck_ in the first place.

"Clusterfuck does not even cover it," Dallas Ford sighed, as she stood in the doorway of one of the dorms with her hands in the pockets of her fitted black blazer, trying to get her bearings. She couldn't help thinking any inmates with a predilection for getting high were bound to be loving the paint fumes. Personally, all she was getting was the early onset of a headache.

"Spanish Harlem?" came a gruff voice from beside her, having clearly overheard her musing. "It ain't that bad. Most of the time."

Turning to find a CO with a greying walrus moustache eyeing her up and down, she managed a smile. "I was kinda looking at the bigger picture. Tragedy on a Shakespearian level."

"Ah. You must be the new counsellor. Joe Caputo," he said, holding out a hand to shake.

"Dallas Ford. And yeah, I was just on my way to the break room. Thought I'd say hi to the staff and then see about setting aside some time to go over any specific concerns about inmates' needs …"

"If you ask me, it should be the damn staff getting the counselling," Caputo groused. "No, no, spare me the corporate explainer – I've heard it all before. And no, I don't begrudge the women some help, before you go getting the wrong idea. Christ knows if MCC had given a damn about their care sooner, this shitstorm might actually have been avoided!"

Having riled himself up, he halted to take a deep breath and rake his hands through his thinning hair.

"Sorry," he relented. "Not like it's your fault, is it? And you're gonna have enough to get to grips with on your first day without me blowing up straight off the bat. Come on, I'll show you to the staff room. Christ, it's a miracle any guards still show up for duty at all, all things considered."

"Hey, Joe? For what it's worth …" Dallas started, unsure whether to mention the proverbial elephant in the room and deciding she might as well get it out of the way early. "I know you were in charge here and ending up back in uniform must suck for you, but … Well, after hearing the stories, I'm glad the women have at least one decent CO trying to look out for them."

"Yeah?" he said, brightening just a little, even if it was only for a moment before he lapsed back into brusque sarcasm. "Well, I'm sure their gratitude will be overwhelming."

* * *

Emerging from their hidden spot just around the corner, Flaca Gonzales and Maritza Ramos shared a look that somehow managed to be half shocked, half not at all surprised and scuttled back to the dorm in a fit of giggles.

"Yo, Maria, have you seen?" Flaca called, desperate to share the latest gossip with a wider audience. "The rumours are true – Caputo's totally just a guard now."

"Annnnd we're getting a replacement for Healy," Maritza chipped in, just as eagerly. "Like, finally! Hello, we've all been through so much and only now they're actually getting round to sending someone to listen."

"Shit, you're kidding?" Maria Ruiz groaned, flopping back on her bunk after having propped herself up to listen to the news from the excitable duo. "That's all we need. Caputo on our asses for losing him his nice office job, and another Healy spouting some psycho-babble at us like it's supposed to help."

"Oh, she won't be no Healy," Maritza said, with a confident swish of her long dark hair, finally getting back to her usually bubbly self now that she had been reunited with her best friend. "She's a she for a start. And she's not like a guard. She ain't stuck in one of those nasty-ass uniforms. Chica actually looks like she got taste – did you see those shoes? Red stilettos, four-inch heels, matt not patent. Sexy, but still, y'know, real classy."

Flaca nodded, mirroring the enthusiasm. "Oh my god, I was so jealous! You think maybe if we tell her how all this grey and beige like puts a total downer on our mood, she might help us get better outfits or something?"

"Hey, maybe!"

Maria rolled her eyes. "Sure, sure. You two should probably have your measurements ready for when they come to hand out the Versace."

But instead of dampening the girls' spirits, that only drew squeals of glee as they practically skipped off to their bunks hand-in-hand.

"We have to be realistic," Flaca could be heard advising. "They're totally gonna want to stick with sombre tones, but something in maybe an olive would suit my complexion so much better. And, like, more fitted …"

"Stupid bitches," Maria muttered to herself, but without any real animosity.

Deep down, she was glad to see the pair reunited. She'd ended up in the same prison as Maritza during their temporary reallocation and the little Colombian had been miserable as hell without her sidekick. And she had been through a lot too, with that bastard Humps turning out to have pretty much tortured her. If she'd known about that damn mouse when … Well, anyway, maybe underneath that ditzy fascination with fashion, the girl really was glad to think she might actually have someone to talk to properly. A professional.

Although, turning on her side to try to block out the chatter from across the dorm, Maria doubted such a thing could really exist in a place like this. Litchfield didn't exactly have a great track record when it came to so-called _professionals_ and, one way or another - mental or physical – plenty of inmates had the scars to prove it.

* * *

"And here we are," Caputo declared, ushering the newcomer into the staff break room to be faced with more than a few openly curious gazes from those gathered. He checked the clock on the wall against his watch and frowned. "Here we _all_ are, despite the fact it's only five minutes until first count."

"Aren't you gonna introduce us, boss? Or is that Fig's job now?"

In his blue button-down shirt that managed to be at once foreign and yet depressingly familiar, and with his radio firmly strapped on his right shoulder – where he was surprised there was room, given the size of the chip he'd gotten himself stuck carrying - the former warden was just too world-weary to rise to the bait. If it even was a dig rather than an honest question. He just didn't know any more. And frankly, he didn't really care.

Even if he was supposed to still have retained seniority over the rest of the guards, his motivation to play at being a leader had taken a serious hit. Why _was_ he babysitting the newbie and trying to keep the place running smoothly while that bony witch …

"Anyway," he tried, settling for simply ignoring anything that could potentially rock the boat. Although, it wasn't like that tactic had served too well in the past. "Plenty of time for proper introductions later, I'm sure. Now, Miss Ford, you'll know all about the unfortunate set of circumstances in which we recently found ourselves, but the important thing to know is that we're already getting right back up to speed. Right, team?"

Caputo knew better than to wait for an answer and quickly steamrolled his way ahead. Suddenly unsure that Fig had bothered to even give the rest of the staff a heads up over the arrival of a new inmate counsellor, he immediately decided it would be much smarter to broach the subject with them when said counsellor was … very much elsewhere.

With MCC having somehow secured an unlikely combination of new but for once fully trained staff, some former long-timers who had previously walked out in protest over what was being asked of them, and even a few of those newer recruits who, by rights, should have been too traumatised at the sight of the place to want to contemplate a return, it wasn't hard to imagine that counselling for the criminals could prove contentious.

He had to admit he was relieved to see Wade Donaldson and Scott O'Neill back in the uniform though. He was going to need all the help he could get from guys who weren't totally clueless about the job. But, with MCC having apparently learned their lessons about the importance of training and support the hard way, he even had hopes for the likes of Ben Stratman, Artesian McCullough, and Ryder Blake – now they weren't following the lead of a raging bull like Piscatella.

"Well, those inmates won't count themselves," he ploughed on breezily. "And even if they could, letting them would probably be frowned upon. Okay, people, let's hustle. Dallas, I'll leave you to get acquainted with- Luschek?"

The late arrival had sauntered into the break room just as Caputo had actually been about to introduce their new colleague to the coffee machine and the caught expression on his bearded face was a clear give away, in the pregnant pause before he made his best attempt at fronting it out, that he had not expected company.

"Luschek, what are you doing in here at this time?" Caputo asked, already wondering why he was bothering to ask when he could already make a fair stab at the answer himself.

"Uh, Head of Electrical?" came the response, like it should have been obvious.

"Exactly. So shouldn't you be, you know, in Electrical?"

"Nooo. Because I am here to … check … the electrics. Of the coffee machine. For electrical faults. Dangerous electrical faults. Potentially lethal. Potentially a _compensation claim_."

Caputo closed his eyes, started to count to ten, and then decided not to bother. "Whatever. Joel Luschek, Dallas Ford. Dallas Ford, Joel Luschek. He's making you coffee. And giving you the grand tour. I'll see you in my office in like an hour or so. We can talk then about … We can talk then."

Ushering his already bored staff in front of him, he glared at the would-be slacker who simply gave him an infuriating little mock-salute and smiled brightly at the new counsellor.

"So, Dallas, huh?" Caputo heard him say, just as the door was closing. "Like the Cowboys?"

* * *

 **To be continued ...**


	3. LitchVegas

**A/N: Just a quick note to say thank you to those reading. Feel free to let me know what you think! x**

* * *

 **3\. LitchVegas**

Few things about Litchfield sparked Joel Luschek's interest.

It was all he could do to keep showing up day after day after day, keeping his head down and his coffee spiked, just doing enough to justify the continued signing of his pay check. While some people lived to work, he definitely wasn't one of them. No sir, he worked to live. Necessary evil, nothing more.

And seeing how shit had gone down lately certainly hadn't gone far towards inspiring a change of approach. Look where trying to play the big dog had gotten Piscatella. Dead as the proverbial dodo, that's where.

He sure as shit wasn't giving his life for Litchfield, not when he pretty much begrudged even wasting clean boxers on the place. Nope, he'd never been one for going above and beyond, rocking any boats he didn't have to, or setting out to make an impression. But then he'd never had some hot blonde show up in the staff room out of nowhere. That, he had to admit, was an unexpected development.

Even if he was wary of another chick cut from the same cloth as the new warden.

Fig was … weirdly hot. In that skinny, high-maintenance way you just knew would be hellish to live with. He hadn't fully decided on whether she'd be uptight or kinda slutty. Backed by the rumours about her and Caputo, he was leaning towards slutty. But, if he was honest, beyond the occasional idle daydream over the possibilities to pass the time in the workshop where he spent most of his working day, he didn't actually care to find out. In fact, he wasn't entirely convinced sex with the tall brunette wouldn't pretty much be the equivalent of sticking your dick in a bear trap.

So, while he raised a curious eyebrow as he was introduced by Caputo to the newbie, he wasn't really getting his hopes up that she'd be anything more than another pain in the ass. Albeit one that prettied up the scenery.

"So, Dallas, huh? Like the Cowboys?" he tried, deciding he might as well at least try to break the ice once they'd been left alone.

"That's me," the blonde smiled, already warm where Fig was only ever frosty. "How's the coffee here?"

"Um, okay, if you don't mind the taste of bitterness and regret."

"That come with milk and sugar?"

"It can."

"Hit me up," she grinned, strolling over to perch on the edge of the table and catching his gaze as she swung her feet back and forth just a little. "Caffeine edges regret every time. So, Joel, how come you don't have to go count inmates with the troops?"

"They don't like it when I take my boots off to count over ten," Luschek deadpanned, setting about making them both coffee in takeaway cups. "Hey, speaking of boots, how come you aren't in uniform? Fig will probably _not_ appreciate the killer heels competition."

Dallas laughed at that. "A guy who notices shoes – you're either gay or quite the catch. They are nice though, right? And Fig will just have to get used to it. No uniform for me because I'm not actually a guard. I heard you had corrections officers who doubled up as inmate counsellors here before. Me, I'm the real deal. Or no good at multi-tasking. Take your pick."

"Ah, a counsellor. Well, yeah, plenty of need round here for one of those. Or, y'know, a coupla dozen."

"I was afraid you might say something like that. Sorry, but it's just me. And just one day a week."

"That's Litchfield for you. If it's gotta be done, do it half-assed. Shit, not that _you're_ half-assed. I'm sure your ass is fine. And we just met and I'm talking about your ass. I'm gonna go ahead and pour this scalding hot coffee down my throat in the hope it melts my oesophagus and shuts me up."

But Dallas could only laugh in the face of his clumsy attempt to get back on safer ground. "Hey, it's cool. We're gonna be work buddies – if we can't talk about each other's asses, what can we talk about? So, come on, start spilling the dirt. Who should I be looking out for around this place? What's the boss lady really like?"

Luschek opened his mouth to answer, only to quickly think the better of it and cut himself off, his eyes narrowing in obvious suspicion. "Are you like her mole or something? Are you wearing a wire? Ms Figueroa is a damn fine warden and-"

"And I'd say she'd benefit from removing the stick from her ass, but I'm also wondering if maybe she _is_ the stick," Dallas mused sweetly, blowing on her coffee as the guard gawped at her in surprised approval.

"And Litchfield is the ass … Oh, you I think I'm gonna like," he declared, holding out an arm with exaggerated chivalry. "Let's take a walk and I'll show you the sights. That oughta kill three minutes."

"That good, huh?"

"The Vegas of the prison system, baby – only with more gamblers and crack whores."

"I've probably had worse three-minute offers," she shrugged, making him choke on a swig of coffee as she hopped off the table with a little grin. "Lead on."

* * *

After the routine scramble to stand by their cubes for the morning count, all had once again fallen relatively quiet in the Suburbs. It was hardly surprising. The whole prison had been more subdued than usual in the aftermath of the riot.

Even though the worst was apparently over, the women were still traumatised after having found out just how vulnerable they could be. And they could hardly take pleasure in the demise of the cruel Piscatella when his death amid so-called friendly fire just further proved how dangerous inept guards could be. Even their own colleagues hadn't been safe from the deadly chaos they could cause without so much as trying.

It didn't help that so many of those that were looked to as leaders, mother figures even, had been taken from them. Red, Gloria, Taystee… All taken straight to Max immediately after their capture.

Nicky Nichols, her once straightened hair returned to its customary wildness, sat on the edge of her bunk and wiped a hand over her face at the memory of the moment their captors had stormed their way into their makeshift sanctuary. In that instant, one hand clutched in Gloria's and the other arm around an injured Alex Vause, even she hadn't been able to muster up a single flippant remark.

It could have been the end, and they'd all known it.

It had been loud and aggressive and it happened fast, the air filled with smoke and dust from the blast and the furious shouting of those SWAT assholes to get on the fucking floor. Suzanne had been yelling and crying. Probably they all had, but her distressed cries had seemed to carry above the rest. Just like when Poussey … That didn't bear thinking about, but both times she had at once understood too much and not enough to be calmed by anyone.

And it had only gotten worse when they started trailing Taystee and Cindy out.

None of them had actually fought. They knew they didn't have a chance against a bunch of grown-ass men armed to the teeth and in full riot gear. And they had never wanted this anyway. Not this violent … mess. Just to be heard. Just justice.

And yet it had still descended into a struggle of sorts. One-sided, but then weren't they always?

If there was any slim chance Alex's arm had only been fractured before, by that monster who had tortured Red right in front of them, it was definitely broken by the time she'd been unnecessarily pinned to the ground beside Piper. Her girlfriend got the same treatment, minus the broken bones, and had sobbed and raged about human rights as only white girl privilege would allow in the face of the shitstorm going down all around them.

Blanca had sworn up a storm all of her own, cursing their captors, their mothers and their mothers' mothers in dark Spanish that sounded terrifying enough without the aid of translation.

Frieda seemed to get off lightest, if only because her stony-faced calm scared the absolute shit out of the guards who found themselves forced to lift her bodily and carry her out when she simply sat down cross-legged and refused to budge an inch.

And Nicky … Almost crushed into the floor with a knee on her back and a rough hand fisted in her hair, causing her to lose a clump when she tried to move, had only been able to think of two things. How terrifyingly easy it would be to end up going out like Poussey in the midst of the carnage, and how glad she was she had gotten Morello the hell out of there. She could handle anything as long as she knew the pretty little Italian was safe.

Of course that proved more complicated once they actually managed to survive the night, only to end up in separate prisons – Morello bussed to fuck knows where and Nicky herself left to stew in Max. She hadn't even really been able to take comfort in knowing that at least she had family there second time around. Knowing just how shit the high-security facility was, she could never want that for them. Not even if it meant helping to keep her from falling off the wagon again.

They had gotten through it though. One painful day at a time.

And now that the dust had settled, they were actually being returned, one by one, to where they belonged. At least the problem of overcrowding had some benefits, because Nicky suspected those in charge would have loved to keep them all in Max and throw away the key if they thought they could, but there just wasn't room.

So, instead, here she was. Back in the 'Burbs, sharing a cube with Boo, Pensatucky and … little Lorna Morello. Who had initially thrown herself into her arms the moment she had first clocked her heading into the dorm and sobbed all down the front of her scrub top – but was now curled up on her bunk and facing the wall in an apparent attempt to shut everyone out. Even her.

"Why do the hot ones always gotta be psychotic?" Nicky muttered to herself, not for the first time. "Yo, Morello! You planning on being this damn hormonal for the entire nine months?"

No answer. She'd tried being her usual breezy self, she'd tried letting it slide in the hope the other woman would come around of her own accord. Maybe it was time to try a different tactic.

"Lorna," she coaxed, lying down beside her and running a hand over that soft dark hair, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. "Talk to me, doll."

With a little sniffle, Lorna sat up but pulled away from her to sit with her arms wrapped around her drawn-up knees, the picture of misery despite what seemed to be an effort to put a brave face on. She hadn't even put her usual makeshift make-up on though. Not that Nicky thought she needed any of it, although she did admittedly find the retro pin-up look sexy as hell.

"I can't let myself get used to you being there, Nicky," she tried to explain, wiping ineffectually at her eyes.

"Ah, yes, because I have that holiday in the Bahamas I was planning on taking," Nicky drawled, confusion plain on her face. "Did you take a bang to the head or something? Because I ain't goin' anywhere, sweetheart. And neither are you."

"You don't know that!" Lorna said, insistent in her distress. "You ended up in Max _again_ and I know that must have been horrible for you, but I was in some strange place all alone and … and … It was awful, Nicky. I didn't have you, or Red, or anyone and I did not like that. I did not like that one bit. So I need to learn to be stronger, to look after myself and not be scared. I can't be someone's mommy and be so scared."

For once, Nicky had to admit that she could at least understand her best friend's neurosis, but that still didn't mean she wanted to leave her to struggle along on her own. Not just to prove a point and when it didn't have to be that way. God knows the news of Lorna's not-so-phantom-after-all pregnancy had thrown her for a loop, and she certainly had no expertise to offer on the subject, but she was fully intent on supporting her through it all as best she could.

"Hey," she tried. "You don't have to be scared, kid. You're stronger than you know. Yes, you _are_. Trust me, I know shit. And you want to feel like you could cope if you had to, I get that. That's good. But Lorn, don't go shutting me out and making yourself lonely and miserable when we can … sit in here and be miserable together. I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

"It could happen, Nicky. They could just take you away again. Or me. Oh my god, what if I ended up in Max? I couldn't cope, I know I couldn't …"

"Now you're talking crazy again. Or crazier than usual. That's ain't gonna happen. You planning on starting shit you ain't told me? Throwing down with the meth-heads in some weird turf battle? That ain't you. Besides, no way are they gonna try sticking you in Max with a bun in the oven. Are you kidding me? You don't gotta worry about anything, I swear. Of course, except what you're gonna do when the serious cravings for more than just _me_ kick in … I'm teasing, I'm teasing," Nicky laughed, as Lorna looked set to start scolding now she was set on trying to be all straight and respectably married again, although she did allow herself to be pulled into a little hug. "I'm gonna be right here, Morello. I'm gonna look after you."

"Promise?" came the soft whisper.

"Promise. Now, come on, you should get out into the yard for some fresh air and I gotta get to Electrical or else Luschek's gonna … Be entirely too busy with some hot blonde to notice apparently," Nicky finished, wide-eyed in amused surprise at the sight of the scruffy guard with very attractive company. "Huh, interesting ..."

* * *

 **To be continued ...**


	4. Sparked Interest

**A/N: Just a quick note to say thank you to all those reading, especially those who left kind reviews - including the guests I couldn't reply directly to. Sometimes real life gets in the way of updates being as swift as I'd like, but hopefully you'll continue to enjoy this! x**

* * *

 **4\. Sparked Interest**

Showing what she thought was admirable restraint for someone not exactly known for keeping her compulsions in check, Nicky held off on simply barging into the conversation going on just outside the dorms. Her usual blunt manner practically dictated that she should do just that, but instead, biding her time, she watched as pretty much the one CO she could – despite everything – tolerate chatted to some stone-cold fox she could only hope was a new guard. Because, if that was the case, standards at Litchfield were certainly on the rise. Aesthetically speaking, if nothing else.

Shamelessly checking out the newcomer, albeit from her slightly hidden vantage point in the cube she had dragged Lorna into in order to avoid disturbing the curious little scene, she smirked in approval. She was, however, definitely inclined to consider it a waste to hide the proverbial light of those slim curves under the unflattering bushel a shapeless guard's uniform would be.

"You done being a pervert yet?" Lorna asked, making Nicky smile to hear the hint of discontent in that cute accent that told her they were far from done with each other as more than just friends, baby or no baby.

" _Moi_?" she drawled, mock-innocence all over her face. Even though she knew it would hardly sit well on her. She'd been called many things in her time. _Innocent_ was not one of them. "Hey, I'm just curious, babe. Last time we got new guards, things didn't exactly play out so good for us. It pays to stay a step ahead."

With a little snort of something that sounded like disapproval, Lorna peeked out around the wall of the cube and then pulled back, shaking her head. "Nuh-uh, that ain't no guard, no ma'am. Not in those fuck-me-and-make-it-good heels."

Nicky raised her eyebrows at that assessment, taking another look herself and then sticking to her guns. "Well, she certainly ain't an inmate and I doubt she's some important corporate type if they've left _Luschek_ in charge of hospitality – if she was, Caputo'd be so far up her ass, she'd have a moustache."

"He probably wishes he was up her ass," the little Italian muttered, more to herself than to anyone else.

Grinning as she turned her attention back to the hallway, Nicky's eyes narrowed as she considered the possibilities. There really weren't a lot. If the chick wasn't a guard, what the hell else could she be? Prisons weren't exactly big on guided tours, unless for obnoxious little shits that needed scaring straight. Not for frankly gorgeous women with nice shoes and an even nicer ass.

Even as she watched, whatever Luschek was yakking about drew a hearty laugh from his mysterious companion, her hand on his arm and her head tilted back in mirth, sending Nicky's eyebrows shooting back up into her hair.

"Whoa, either she's just the touchy-feely type – which is fine by me, for the record – or it looks like maybe Luschek actually got game!" she exclaimed, only just remembering to keep her voice down. "Huh, who knew?"

She was starting to debate whether to just crash their little party as the easiest way to get to the bottom of what was going on. The urge to yank the scruffy CO's chain was pretty strong, even if their unlikely friendship of sorts had yet to fully recover after taking a serious hit when he landed her in Max. Although, with a bit of distance from her hellish drugs relapse and yet another excruciating and humiliating cold turkey detox, she could appreciate she hadn't exactly left him much choice by hiding that heroin under his desk. She also had to admit, despite the red mist that had clouded her thinking when he'd visited her down the hill, she had secretly – and very reluctantly - appreciated that he'd shown up. It was more than her own mother had done after all.

And as for his subsequent illicit liaison with Judy King of all people … Well, that was just all kinds of messed up and she still wasn't entirely sure what the hell he'd been thinking going through with that, basically for her. Although joking about his feelings hadn't exactly borne forth the definitive negative answer she'd envisaged, so they'd awkwardly settled for avoiding any further discussion on the matter, just to be on the safe side.

"Ah, fuck it," Nicky said suddenly, instructing Lorna to follow her as she strolled out of the cube and headed straight for the hallway. "Yo, Luschek, who's your lady-friend? You finally on the rebound?"

That drew a grumpy warning look clumsily masked with a forced laugh. "Oh you, always with the jokes, huh, inmate? Don't you have somewhere to be? Somewhere … _else_?"

"Yeah, funny story. I went to Electrical, but guess what? You weren't there to supervise and … Oh look, here you are," Nicky said, boldly eying the blonde woman the whole time without bothering to hide her interest.

"Here I am," Luschek glared. "And off you go. Unless you want a shot."

Nicky held up her hands in surrender, nodding for Lorna to head off down the hall. "All right, all right. We're going, man. Keep your panties on. Hey, that's optional for you, Blondie," she called back over her shoulder, laughing as she escaped out the door into the yard.

"Can you, like, try not to piss off any guards just for five minutes?" Lorna sighed, looking more upset than her friend felt the situation reasonably warranted.

"I thought you and the shoe police decided she wasn't a guard? Oh, come on, Morello," Nicky frowned, throwing an arm over her shoulder. "Ease up, it's only Luschek pretending to swing his dick around for the audience. He wouldn't really shot me."

"He got you sent to Max!"

"That … That was complicated."

"Are you sticking up for him now?" Lorna demanded, looking affronted. "I know you two have this kinda weird thing like you're almost friends or something, but Nicky, he's still a guard and look at what they're capable of. You said you wouldn't leave me again. You _promised_!"

Realising the brunette was working herself up into a panic, Nicky cut the crap for once and grabbed her by both shoulders to look her square in the eye, giving her a gentle little shake. "Chill, will ya? I ain't going anywhere. You gotta stop freaking yourself out, Lorn. You're not doing yourself any good by stressing."

"I can't help it. I'm sorry, Nicky, but I can't," she said, shaking her head and swiftly ending up all tearful again. "Everything that's happened … What Piscatella did to Red, being in that horrible other place … I can't cope with it any more, I can't. I don't want my baby to be born here. Oh god, oh god, I can't …"

Pulling Lorna into her arms in concern, Nicky sighed as she pressed a kiss into those soft dark curls, slowly starting to realise all those fears weighing heavily on her friend's already overactive mind weren't going to be easily cast aside.

"Shh, kid, I got ya," she whispered, with a heavy heart.

* * *

Having dodged the potential bullet of one of the inmates dropping him in the shit in front of his new colleague, Luschek had to admit he was kinda sorry when their tour of the prison came to an end. It wasn't like there was much to see and it was hard to put a positive spin on a lot of it. What was he supposed to say? _Hey, there's the garden where we found a dismembered guard. There's the cafeteria where an inmate was killed …_

He could go down that route, but he didn't fancy his chances of still being employed once word inevitably got back to Fig. And, more importantly, he didn't want to be a total dick to Dallas. Shit like that could be a lot to process on your first day, he thought, before snorting to himself. Yeah, tales of murder in the workplace were much more of a second day thing …

"So, that's Litchfield," he concluded, once they'd ended up right back where they started.

"Thanks for this, Joel," the counsellor said. "And hey, what you were saying earlier? I will take it on board."

"Yeah?" he asked, a little surprised. He wasn't exactly used to being taken seriously. Or asked for his opinion in the first place actually, especially in the professional sense. He'd even come to think of himself less as a federal corrections officer and more as a glorified handyman.

"Of course. Look, I do know what I'm up against here. One day a week isn't even going to touch the sides in a place this size. But … I know it sounds like the usual clichéd bullshit from the higher-ups, but I just want to try to make a difference. And you and the rest of the COs are the ones best placed to tell me who you think needs help most. So, no promises, but I'll see what I can do."

"Uh, cool," Luschek said, still somewhat taken aback. "That's pretty cool. I guess I'll see you around then?"

"Monday," Dallas smiled. "I'll be here. I'll bring you a decent coffee as a thank you for showing me around. Now, Caputo's office this way, yeah?"

"Yeah," Luschek nodded, giving a little wave as he watched her go.

Already wondering if he'd done the right thing.

* * *

Expecting the new counsellor to be knocking on his door at any moment, Caputo had tightened and loosened his tie over and over, caught between wanting to look in charge and yet relaxed. Authoritative, but approachable. Hastily thinking the better of his latest choice, he tightened the knot back up and then ran his hands over his hair.

Attractive women made him nervous, he couldn't help it. It was probably Fig's fault actually … That scrawny witch had reconditioned him to think all women had bites infinitely worse than their barks. Rabid even.

So when the knock finally came – making him wonder what the hell Luschek had found to show the poor woman that had taken so long - he promptly jumped, swore as he knocked over his glass of water, and tried to wipe the tell-tale dark glare from his face as the door opened.

"Ah, Dallas," he declared, too over-the-top even to his ears. "Come in, come in. Make yourself comfortable."

"Thanks, Joe. Is now a good time? I wasn't interrupting anything or-"

"No, no, not at all. Might as well get down to it. Business, I mean. How was the tour? Sorry, I had to leave you with Luschek – duty called, you know how it is."

"Oh, don't worry, I understand. It must be hard staying on top of everything in a place like this."

You better believe it, he thought to himself, as he simply smiled through gritted teeth and cleared a space on his desk for the paperwork she had produced from her bag.

"Provisional stuff provided by the prison," Dallas explained. "It was sent ahead to me, so I could have a look and start to narrow down some lists of inmates we should be reaching out to. Now, I just need whatever guidance you and your team can provide and we can get a definite sense of numbers. And of course, the women need to want our help. With such limited resources, we just can't afford to force someone into attending who doesn't want to be there when we could be helping someone who's actually open to it."

"Of course, makes sense," he nodded, trying not to get distracted from the papers she was leaning over to point at by the enticing hint of cleavage revealed by the top few undone buttons of her simple black shirt.

"Now, taking on board some … input already received … I think I'd like to focus first on any obvious candidates who have been through a particular trauma, but also those who may be vulnerable to … heading down a dark path after, say, a stint in solitary or your maximum security facility. It's not my place to question disciplinary procedure, but situations like that have been known to escalate self-destructive behaviour."

"Uh, okay …"

"Some inmates may front it out, but I think we should look closely at those who may be more deeply affected than they let on. Especially those with a history of self-harm or substance abuse," Dallas continued, glancing up from her papers, pen in hand. "So, just for example … Nicole Nichols."

"Nichols? Not an obvious candidate, I would have said. I mean, there are others definitely with a bigger screw loose – I mean, bigger issues," Caputo frowned.

"That may be," Dallas said. "But Nichols is serving a lengthy sentence for drugs offences, got caught with heroin, and was sent to Max. Now, did that dry her out or make things worse?"

She had him there, caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place and somehow she already knew it. God dammit, why were the hot ones always so fucking good at getting their own way?

Dallas smiled, as if to try to reassure him. "Look, Joe, I'm not here to find fault. This isn't about criticising, or questioning how drugs get into prisons, or whatever. Like I said, that's not for me to worry about. I just want to make sure the women have support in place to help them get through whatever it is that could be making life difficult for them. Officer Luschek expressed concern about inmates like that and-"

"Wait, what? Luschek expressed _concern_? _Joel_ Luschek?"

"He did, specifically about Nichols actually," Dallas nodded casually, oblivious to his stunned disbelief that his so-called Head of Electrical had displayed any kind of interest in anything related to work. "You're lucky to have staff who care here, Joe. Must make your life that little bit easier."

Oh yeah, Caputo inwardly glowered, his life was just peachy.

* * *

 **To be continued ...**


	5. Overtime

**5\. Overtime**

It was only when Dallas finally sank down on her comfy old couch at home that the enormity of the task ahead hit her. She'd spent a good couple of hours going over the basics with Caputo and then the rest of the day in the staff room pouring over the mountain of files that was now piled on her coffee table. She was going to have to talk to Fig and see if she could negotiate extra office time over and above her one day of counselling sessions, but she wasn't hopeful.

Kicking off her heels with a sigh of relief, she allowed herself to admit that it was already rapidly becoming clear that Litchfield's corporate overlords were only interesting in paying lip service to something that might fend off lawsuits. Actual care of the women in their facility was very much secondary.

"Bastards," she muttered, tugging her long hair free from its ponytail and reaching for the brown paper bag that contained the takeout food she'd picked up on the way home. Prawn toast, salted chilli chicken with egg fried rice, and there was white wine in the fridge with her name on it … Not having had time to eat since breakfast, she was practically salivating just at the thought.

She couldn't get the prison out of her mind though. Most of her work of late had been in schools or colleges. In fact, she was going to be juggling her role at Litchfield with spending three days a week at the prestigious Lowridge Academy. It wasn't lost on her that she was getting much more time to focus on a bunch of wealthy teenagers and their angst than she was to try to help vulnerable incarcerated women.

And, god, the things some of them had been through! In fact, for some of them, life only seemed to have gotten darker since ending up in the prison that was supposed to rehabilitate them. It just wasn't right.

Dallas padded into the kitchen to grab a fork and pour herself that longed-for glass of wine, before returning to the couch to eat. She had told herself in the car that she'd take a half-hour to herself to unwind, but she was only a few bites in when she realised those files weren't going to stop calling to her.

She got up and flicked on her docked iPod, turning the music down low and hoping it would help her chill out.

"Fuck sake, Ford," she chastised herself not five minutes later, when she reached for the stack of paperwork. She wasn't on the clock. There was no prospect of overtime ...

There was also no fighting it.

So she gave in and opened the first file, chewing thoughtfully on another forkful of food as a young black woman gazed back at her from the photograph paperclipped inside. She wasn't someone Dallas was going to be able to help, but she had insisted on having the file all the same, wanting to learn what she could about the person who had directly or indirectly affected so many lives.

Her cell phone rang and she glanced at the caller id, her heart sinking in the seconds before it hardened. She ignored it and tried to return her attention to the paperwork in front of her.

Poussey Washington. Twenty-three. Deceased.

There was somehow at once both defiance and vulnerability in those dark eyes and Dallas put down her fork. Twenty-three. The girl was seven years younger than she was herself.

She gently pulled the photo from the file and sank back against the plump couch cushions with it in her hand.

It just wasn't right.

And it wouldn't have mattered what her circumstances were, but her record only made her fate seem all the more tragic. The girl came from a good family, was well-educated, well-travelled. She should have been out there in the world making something of herself. Not paying for one minor slip-up over weed with her life.

The counsellor could only imagine how it had felt for the other inmates to have witnessed what happened to Poussey. From her picture, she looked petite and she probably hadn't ever stood a chance once she'd ended up on the floor. It could have been any of them though – pressure just applied in the wrong place, or at the wrong angle. That was what had happened in the end, more or less.

Suffocation due to a crushed windpipe.

Dallas shook her head sadly, taking a large sip of her wine as those dark eyes continued to stare back at her. The girl's large, pretty features suited her close-cropped haircut and, while the picture showed her almost glaring at the camera, it was easy to imagine that mouth curved in a wide, engaging smile.

"I'm sorry I never got to meet you," Dallas whispered, before taking a deep breath and giving herself a little shake. She couldn't let herself get dragged in emotionally, especially over something it was too late to fix. She already knew the perils of that all too well and there was nothing she could do for Poussey now – except try to help her friends deal with the aftermath of her death and everything that had spiralled into.

Of course, relationships were frowned upon in prison. Especially of the sexual or romantic kind, but friendships weren't exactly encouraged either. Never mind the fact that human beings were naturally social animals – the prison system that depended on locked people up and isolating them was hardly going to care about that. But Caputo had provided details on those closest to Poussey, from her friends like Tasha Jefferson to her strictly off-the-record girlfriend Brook Soso.

Judging by their files, Dallas realised she was going to have her work cut out just dealing with those two, never mind anyone else, with one having been sent to Max as an apparent riot ringleader and the other having a history of depression and suicidal tendencies.

God, there were just so many woman who needed better support than the prison seemed prepared to offer.

Raking a hand through her hair, the counsellor thumbed quickly through the pile of files, trying to just get a sense of the numbers. She was going to have to cut back to a manageable level somehow, but she only had to consider all the possible causes of trauma in these women's lives to know that wasn't going to be easy.

There were those who had lost someone close to them – and it wasn't like Poussey was the only inmate to have died behind Litchfield's walls in recent months – but also those separated from young children, those battling serious drug or alcohol addiction, those who had suffered physical abuse at the hands of other inmates or even at the hands of guards … The list seemed to just go on, and on, and on.

A beep from her phone drew her attention once again. Text message.

 _Stop ignoring my calls. We need to talk._

"No," Dallas muttered. "We really don't. Fuck, I need more wine."

* * *

Lights out was supposed to bring silence. Unfortunately, it rarely worked out that way.

The guards only intervened if things got too rowdy though, so those simply giving way to tears or night terrors were largely left to the mercy – or lack thereof – of their bunkmates. And, as those who had learned the hard way could attest, the value inmates placed on not having their sleep disturbed was not to be underestimated.

Sympathy was a lot harder to come by after dark.

"Somebody shut her the hell _up_!"

"Yeah, quiet down, bitch."

"You crazy meth-heads are making more noise than she is," Alex Vause finally snapped, after what seemed like an eternity with her pillow clamped awkwardly over her head. "Jesus Christ."

Finally, reluctant but realising it was the only way any of them were getting any sleep at all, she took matters into her own hands. Although it was awkward with one arm still in cast, she found her glasses and put them on before slipping down from her top bunk in her oversized grey nightshirt. She stuck her feet in her commissary-issue flipflops to pad out of her cube and into the one next door. The one that was still empty, save for a solitary figure curled up on a bottom bunk.

"Mercy? Mercy, you gotta quiet down or you're gonna end up in the SHU and, trust me, the way these bitches are getting wound up, that's probably the best scenario you can hope for here."

"I can't be here, I can't!" the younger woman sobbed. "How can I be back here?"

"It's shit, I know. But you gotta deal. If you want to stay sane in here, you gotta find a way to get right with it quick. Then you can do your time and get the fuck of here – for good this time."

"I p-promised I'd wait for her. I promised her and … and I couldn't. I didn't w-want to be alone. I promised her and I cheated her and now she's _d-dead_."

With a sigh, Alex sat down on the edge of the bunk, raking a hand through her sleep-tousled dark hair. "Tricia."

"Everything in this place just reminds me of her," Mercy Valduto ground out, forcing herself to sit up and wiping ineffectually at her red-rimmed eyes. "It's like she _haunts_ it. Like she haunts _me_."

"What happened to Tricia wasn't your fault, you know."

"Wasn't it? She wouldn't have ended up back on that shit if I hadn't _abandoned_ her. I can't get that out of my head. They even put me in her fucking bunk. I'm losing my mind here. I can't sleep, but when I do for like five fucking minutes when I'm so beat I can't see straight … I see her. I see her everywhere, Vause. Am I losing my mind? I actually think I'm losing my mind!"

"Shut the fuck up – we're trying to sleep here!" came another yell.

"Ugh, I swear I'm gonna strangle that trailer-trash bitch myself," Alex vowed, rolling her eyes. "Listen, maybe it'd help if you got out of this cube … Since I got back, I don't have anyone in with me yet. Heard a rumour more transfers are on their way, but until then, why don't you just move on in? Can't promise a room with a view, but it's gotta be better than being stuck here alone with your memories, right?"

"The guards'll never go for it."

"Fuck the guards," Alex said darkly, glancing down at her broken arm, remembering all too clearly the sound of bone snapping under Piscatella's vise-like grip. She'd heard it even over Piper and the others screaming. She still heard it in her dreams.

Mercy wasn't the only one battling ghosts.

* * *

The ringing in her head slowly cut through the fog of sleep and Dallas groaned as she fumbled for the source, still caught somewhere between waking and sleeping.

Her phone. Her phone was ringing.

She sat up in the darkness, her heart rate kicking up a gear or two as she went from confusion to irritation to fearfulness. She'd fallen asleep on the couch while reviewing her paperwork and it was the middle of the night. No one ever called with good news in the middle of the night.

Grabbing her phone from the coffee table, scattering files in her haste, she answered it without so much as a glance at the caller id. "Hello?"

No one spoke.

"Hello?"

Still no one spoke. She knew they were there just the same.

Her breath catching in her throat, she pushed her rumpled hair back from her face and sat back against the cushions, almost as if she feared the caller could see her. At some point, she'd taken a break from working to at least take off her make-up and change into the pyjama shorts and little tank top she had on under the robe she pulled tighter around herself. She now felt strangely vulnerable in her own home.

"I know someone's there," Dallas said, hating to hear the tremor in her voice.

She did though – know they were there. Even though there was no answer, no heavy breathing. There was just … a presence. One only made threatening by the refusal to engage and by the advantage of anonymity.

Once, she would have dismissed it as a prank. Maybe even twice. Three times was a pattern though.

This was the fifth call in the last week.

"Call back and I'm calling the cops," she finally snapped, abruptly cutting the call, only to sit trembling in the darkness as she clutched her phone.

It didn't ring again that night. But she didn't sleep either.

* * *

 **To be continued ...**


	6. Rookie

**A/N: Sorry for the delay, but I was travelling and didn't get much time for writing. Big thanks to those reading and do feel free to let me know what you think!**

* * *

 **6\. Rookie**

Mondays were always hard after a weekend off, getting back to the everyday drudge.

It seemed that, while Friday could leave you feeling smug next to the poor saps who'd been landed with weekend shifts, you inevitably ended up envying them come Monday - when they could put the place firmly in the rear view, even as it loomed in front of you.

At least, Luschek thought as he parked up in his usual spot and removed his motorcycle helmet, he finally had his unfortunate cashflow hitch ironed out. Having secured the return of his impounded bike, he no longer had to blag a lift with whoever happened to be going his way. Although, somehow managing to sleep through his alarm did mean he'd still had to forego taking time to fix himself a sneaky little liquored-up caffeine boost. He hung his head at that thought, trying to muster up the energy if not quite enthusiasm to just make it through the day ahead.

"Joel? Hey, I thought that was you …"

Looking up at the call from across the parking lot, he realised it had totally slipped his mind that this would be their new counsellor's first proper day at Litchfield. And he was even more surprised to see her holding out one of the two large, steaming takeaway cups she was carrying.

"Just a little Colombian something-something to perk ya up," Dallas grinned. "As promised."

Damn, it was all he could do to be awake and feeling more or less human first thing and here she was, all bright smiles and positive vibes in her tight white jeans, chambray shirt and yellow blazer.

"Well, aren't you a little ray of sunshine?" Luschek said, finding himself smiling as he took the proffered coffee and tried a sip. Definitely the good shit. "Thanks. You didn't have to."

"Meh, I was passing the place anyway and I seriously needed some kind of kick-start," the little blonde said, with a shrug. "Late night."

"Oh yeah?" he asked, as they fell into step beside each other on the way into the main prison building. He was suddenly curious about her life and the kind of person she really was behind the usual newbie bid to make a good impression – a rookie mistake in his book, setting the bar too high from the get-go. "In a good way, or …"

She chuckled at that. "Now I wish I had some great depraved tale of hedonistic debauchery for you. But nope, definitely nothing that exciting. Just a lot of paperwork to catch up on. How lame am I?"

"Pretty lame," he deadpanned, letting her go first through the body scanner and then catching up again to laugh at her look of mock-outrage. "Kidding."

"Hey, if I'm lame, let's hear it then – how was _your_ weekend? Just twenty-four-seven party time? All sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll?" Dallas teased.

 _Sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll._

He realised he probably looked caught at that, taking too long to wonder to himself whether to front it out to seem like less of a loser or tell the truth. Actually, the truth was probably not a great idea, but some semblance of it would do. He quickly decided he really didn't want to confess to this gorgeous woman who, in an unlikely twist of his usual run of luck, was now his colleague that the only action like that he'd seen in weeks had involved his own right hand, a joint or two, and watching Caputo's band of misfits. Not at the same time, he hastily added even in his own mind with an inner shudder. Jesus.

"Uh, it was okay," Luschek managed. "Watched a lot of sport, drank a few beers. You know how it is. Can't go wild all the time."

"Still sounds way better than mine," the counsellor smiled, seeming to know exactly the score but letting him off the hook. "Well, enjoy the coffee. I guess I gotta go find this new office of mine. Catch you later? Hey, maybe lunchtime, so I don't have to be the loser sat on my own on my first day?"

"Sure," he nodded, taken aback all over again that she seemed to actually want to hang out with him, before catching himself checking out her ass as she left.

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. Sexy as hell, a nice person, and happy to spend time with him … There had to be a catch. What the fuck was _wrong_ with her?

"Yo, Luschek, you're drooling!"

Fuck, he actually fell for it and checked, before turning a scowl on Nicky's mischievous face. "Very funny, inmate. Now move it along."

"Not until you tell me the score with Blondie. I'm hearing on the grapevine she might be Healy's replacement. Fuck, that's a serious upgrade right there if that's the case."

"Dal- Miss Ford's the new counsellor," he admitted. "Happy now?"

"Fucking A," Nicky beamed. "Where do I sign up? And _Miss Ford_ , huh? You gonna make her call you _Officer Luschek_ when you try getting her to spread those legs?"

He started to tell her to shut up, only to cut himself off. "You really think I could?"

Both his eyes and Nicky's widened, as they realised at the same time that he'd inadvertently confirmed his interest in the newest member of Litchfield's staff. She didn't answer his question, but her peals of laughter seemed to follow him as he stomped off down the hall to Electrical.

* * *

Setting her bag, her stack of paperwork and her coffee down on her new desk, Dallas looked around the room and sighed. It could be worse, she supposed. At least it was a fairly big office and it had windows, so it was light and airy. That was about as good as it got though. There was the desk and a chair and a computer and a phone and … That was it. Nothing but four magnolia walls.

"Maybe it's a security thing," she mused, wondering if that really could be it. If she wasn't allowed anything but the basics as inmates would have access to the space. But no, that couldn't be right. Caputo and Fig would both have prisoners visit their offices and they each seemed to have plenty of clutter and personal possessions around them. Hell, the inmates working in the kitchen and in the workshop had access to all sorts of knives and tools!

She wasn't an officer though. Maybe that made a difference. Maybe she wasn't supposed to be alone with inmates exposed to anything that they could use as a weapon. It wasn't like she had handcuffs or pepper spray or a baton if things turned nasty. She didn't even have a radio to call for help, although she had been told there was a panic button easily accessible on the wall and another hidden beneath her desk.

"I gotta at least get a plant or something," Dallas said, still talking to herself under her breath. "I'm supposed to be helping these women, not making them more depressed …"

She broke off to look around in confusion as something dawned on her. Jesus, there wasn't even anywhere for anyone else to sit. What was she supposed to do, conduct counselling sessions with inmates sat on the floor? Sitting down on her own chair, she shook her head in disbelief as she reached for the phone with one hand and tried to turn on the computer with the other. While she heard the dial tone in her ear, there was nothing happening with the computer, making her check it was plugged in properly.

"For fuck sake," she muttered. Her first appointment was supposed to be in a half-hour. She perched on the edge of the desk as she grabbed the phone again, dialling the easy to remember 007 internal extension for Caputo's office. She'd bet good money he'd been the one to choose that for himself.

"Ah, Joe, good morning – it's Dallas," she started when he finally picked up. "Yeah, just getting settled in, thanks. It's about that actually. I, um, don't seem to have anywhere for anyone to sit in my office. There's just one desk chair … I mean, I really could do with like a couch or a couple of comfy chairs. Nothing too fancy obviously, but informal would help. Oh, and there seems to be something up with the computer. There's no power, so maybe a fuse blown … Yes, it's definitely plugged in properly … Uh, sure, I can call him. Do you have the extension for Electrical? 021? Got it. And the guards, they have my appointment list, yeah? So I can expect the inmates to just be sent on up? That's great. Thanks again. And yes, I'll check in later. Bye now."

Rolling her eyes at Caputo's well-meaning effort to somehow both rescue the damsel in distress and yet avoid having to supply any practical help himself, she tilted her head back and closed her eyes for a second. She wasn't exactly off to the most auspicious of starts. Still, it was hardly her fault Litchfield was ill-prepared for her arrival. It wasn't like they hadn't known she was coming.

Dallas reached for her now cooling coffee and took a long sip, savouring the taste before grabbing the phone again. "Hey, new buddy of mine," she said brightly, when she got a gruff answer. "Wanna come check out my new office? Gotta warn ya, I do have an ulterior motive …"

* * *

Luschek had to admit all that talk from the new counsellor of an ulterior motive for calling him had encouraged his mind to wander into decidedly unprofessional territory. Even so, it was little wonder he ended up stood in the doorway of her office, initially lost for words and failing miserable in his admittedly half-hearted efforts to not stare at her denim-clad ass – given that it was pretty much all he could see of her, half hidden as she was under her desk.

He tried clearing his throat to get her attention. "Uh, you know it's traditional to sit _at_ the desk, not under it?"

He felt bad the second she sat up startled and promptly banged her head on the underside of said desk.

"Shit!" she swore.

"Shit," he echoed, going to see if he could help. "You okay? Sorry, didn't mean to make you jump …"

"I'm fine," Dallas insisted, brushing off his apology as she clambered to her feet and dusted down the knees of her white jeans. "God, why do they put the sockets in such stupid places? I think there's a fuse blown in the plug of the computer. There's no power, so I was trying to unplug it to see."

"I'll take a look for you," Luschek offered. "This is probably the last thing you need on your first day."

"Exactly," she nodded. "Thanks, Joel. I'm sure you've got enough on your plate too without me adding to it."

"Nah, it's cool. Gets me out of the workshop for a bit," he said, trying not to flush like he had when he'd had to leave Nicky in charge, telling her the new counsellor needed his help.

His wild-haired charge had simply raised one eyebrow sky-high while shooting him a filthy grin. "The kind of help that requires use of your tool?" she'd asked, before elaborating just in case the crude innuendo was somehow too subtle to make her point. "Like sticking it in her twat? Like I'm using _tool_ as a play on words here when I actually mean your dick …"

"Shut the fuck up, Nichols," he'd muttered, but it hadn't been nearly enough to wipe away that lecherous smirk of hers.

Right now though, Dallas looked far too anxious to have anything but the problem in hand on her mind. More's the pity. But he got to work, trying to find out what was wrong with her computer. At least it did seem to be electrical rather than anything IT related, so at least he had a decent shot at being able to fix it. Probably.

"Sorry," she piped up. "It's probably not helping having me hovering over you. I just really wanted to be on top of things today …"

Luschek could practically see Nicky's grin widen as he imagined her hearing the counsellor talking about being on top of anything. She never could get her mind out of the gutter. Although it wasn't like he was much better. He tried to shake those thoughts out of his own head and stay focused.

"Don't worry," he called back over his shoulder. "This shouldn't take long. When's your first appointment again?"

"Uh, in about fifteen minutes. I've got a Mercy Valduto coming in."

"Valduto? You sure?"

"Positive. I know she didn't experience what went on here during the riot, but I thought I'd start with her since she's just going through the trauma of being returned to Litchfield after a previous release. And I understand she was very close to one of the girls who died here, Tricia Miller-"

"Yeah, I get that," Luschek frowned. "But I doubt you're gonna be able to see her today. She's in SHU. They don't let them out of there for anything except a medical emergency."

"What? She's in solitary? Why would they do that? She's going to be going through enough right now …"

"I dunno what she's in for. I'm kinda outta the loop when it comes to the details," he said. "Who else is on your list for today?"

"Uh …" Dallas reached for her paperwork and pulled a list from the top of the pile. "Suzanne Warren?"

"She's back in Psych. She's … Uh, they call her Crazy-Eyes. I'll let you read between the lines on that one."

"Alex Vause?"

"Medical. Broken arm. Getting her cast changed apparently."

"Galina Reznikov?"

"Who? Oh, Red. Don't think she's come back up the hill from Max yet. Although I guess she could have last night, or be scheduled for later today …"

At her silence, Luschek quickly finished swapping the fuse over with a spare he'd had in his pocket and clambered out from beneath the desk himself, finding Dallas stood by the window with her arms folded.

"This is fucking bullshit," she muttered, rounding on him with a dangerous spark in those clear green eyes. "You think I should believe it's just coincidence all the inmates on my list just happen to not be available?"

"I … I dunno. You think it's deliberate? I mean, why would someone hire you if they weren't going to let you do your job?"

"Box-ticking exercise?" Dallas suggested hotly. "Fuck ... No, d'ya know what? Fuck this. Hey, Joel? Which way to SHU?"

"Why, what you gonna do?"

There was a hard look of determination written all over her face when she answered him.

"Keep my appointments."

* * *

 **To be continued ...**


	7. Showing Mercy

**7\. Showing Mercy**

"… and I'm telling you, you ain't got clearance to be here."

"Well, that's too bad because I'm not going anywhere."

Luschek watched in bemusement, from his vantage point leaning against the wall, as the new counsellor coolly stared down the hulking guard blocking her way. Eric Jarrett, built like a veritable buzzcut-topped brick shithouse, was also a relative newbie at Litchfield and had been sent up from Max to bolster the depleted officer ranks. While it hopefully wasn't another Piscatella situation in the making, the signs still weren't exactly promising.

Unlike their unfortunate former captain, Jarrett appeared to have no interest in setting the agenda though. But he was clearly out to make an impression right from the get-go, by playing absolutely everything by the book. Unsurprisingly, Luschek had no time for that, but he was pretty sure even the likes of Wade Donaldson – who could be another stickler for the rules – wouldn't have bothered fighting this bullshit battle of wills. What did it matter if some strung-out poochie saw a counsellor for ten minutes? For fuck's sake, it might even help.

It wasn't like Dallas was trying to bust Valduto out of prison. She just wanted to see for herself that she was okay, talk to the girl, help straighten her head out. And fuck knows, it sounded like she might need that, having apparently used said head to break the nose of another inmate.

"All inmates remain in the Secure Housing Unit until formally released back into the general population," Jarrett said flatly, and not for the first time. "No visitors are allowed in the Secure Housing Unit."

He sounded like he was literally quoting the prison handbook word for word.

"I'm not a visitor. I'm staff, for crying out loud."

Jarrett gave her a look disapproving look. " _Civilian_ staff."

Dallas pinched the bridge of her nose wearily and Luschek frowned. She didn't need this bullshit when she was only trying to do her job.

"Come on, dude, it's hardly that big a deal …" he tried, pushing away from the wall and ambling over to stand by the counsellor's side. Not that he expected his support to hold much sway, even if he was a guard.

But, before he could get any further, she sighed and fished a pen out of her blazer pocket.

"Staff number?" she asked Jarrett, poised to write down his answer on a piece of paper from among the paperwork she was carrying.

"What?"

"Staff number?" she prompted. "You have some kind of employee number, right? I need it, please."

"For what?" he demanded, suspicion creasing his forehead.

"Just my records," Dallas said, her tone casual and her attention focused on her notes. "Makes life easier when the courts start asking for paperwork and blah blah blah. You know how it is with these things."

"Wait, courts …"

"God, yeah. Tedious, isn't it? But what ya gonna do?" she shrugged. "I'm sure it's easier under the maximum security guidelines, a bit more straight-forward, but this place is such a minefield. I mean, one minute you think you're playing by the rules and the next you're the subject of an external investigation for denying mental health support to a vulnerable prisoner who may be experiencing a crisis scenario …"

"Investigation?" Jarrett looked well and truly flustered by now. "Shit, hang on a minute!"

"And these things escalate so quickly. I mean, I suppose it's understandable," Dallas mused. "We are talking about a potential breach of the Eighth Amendment."

"T-The right to bear arms?"

"That's the Second Amendment, dumbass," Luschek supplied.

"The _Eighth_ Amendment," the counsellor said, like it should have been obvious. "Prohibiting the federal government from imposing excessive or cruel and unusual punishment …"

"This ain't unusual," the confused guard argued. "We lock 'em all up in seg when they act up."

Dallas just raised her eyebrows at that and made a note on her pad.

"Now what are you writing? Stop that! Jesus Christ … Look, fine. Just do whatever and get the fuck outta my face," Jarrett ordered, his exasperation reaching boiling point as he shoved a set of keys in her hand. "But I'm reporting _you_ – to the warden!"

"Be my guest," Dallas smiled sweetly, before those green eyes hardened and she leaned in to add her parting shot in a low warning voice just loud enough for Luschek to hear. "But I will fucking end you, buddy." She brightened up quickly the very next second. "Legally speaking, of course. Valduto in cell three? Thanks."

Following dumbly in the counsellor's wake, Luschek caught up with her, eyebrows raised in impressed surprise. "Okay, what the hell was that?" he finally asked, getting a sidelong little smirk in return.

"What?" Dallas said, aiming for innocent and falling just shy of the mark.

"Uh, the badass lawyer routine?" he prompted. _Hot as fuck badass lawyer routine_ , he amended, but only in his own head. "Like, was all that shit legit?"

"Doubt it," she admitted. "Dropped out of law school. Long story."

"Just full of surprises, huh?"

"Something like that."

* * *

With Luschek waiting just outside in case of trouble, Dallas paused for a second to think about what she was doing and then stepped inside the cell. At times like this, she never failed to realise just how confined the space actually was, and how bleak, and she wondered how she would cope if she had to trade places with the raven-haired girl staring at her with hostility in her dark red-rimmed eyes. _If_ she would cope.

"Who the fuck are you?"

Mercy Valduto. Twenty-two. Getting acquainted with Litchfield's hospitality for the second time.

Having read her file, Dallas could already sympathise a little. The girl had already spent years banged up and now she had lost her freedom just months after finally getting it back. She'd seen it happen a lot. Some people just never expected to find the real world so hard to fit back into and it knocked them sideways, putting them back on the path that had steered them wrong in the first place.

"It's Mercy, right?" she tried. "I'm Dallas Ford. I'm your new counsellor."

That drew a cynical laugh. "Fuck, like that shit ever did anyone any good. Where was that piece of shit Healy when my girl was crying out for help, huh? You tell me that!"

"Tricia …"

"Don't you say her name, bitch! What do you know about her? Jack shit, that's what. She was too good for this place. Too good for me."

"Mercy, I just want to help," Dallas said softly. "I don't want to see what happened to her happen to anyone else. I know it shouldn't have happened at all."

The brunette seemed to pause at that, or maybe she just didn't have the energy for a fight any more. It could be surprisingly draining to be shut in a concrete box with nothing to do, sapping you of your strength, of your will to keep going.

"How come you ain't in uniform, _Miss Ford_? It Casual Friday or some shit?" she sneered, her arms crossed over her chest, seeming determined to at least try to keep her defences up.

"It's Monday," Dallas said. "And I'm not a guard. Mercy, how long have you been in here?"

"Thought it was Friday," she shrugged. "Guess I lost track. A week?"

"Why?"

"Whadda ya mean why? 'Cause these assholes won't let me out!"

"No, I mean, what happened? Even if you feel it was unfair to put you in SHU, why did the guards think this is where you needed to be?"

"Some bitch started talking smack about Tricia, what was I supposed to do? I shut her stupid mouth."

"Look, I know that must be hard to deal with all things considered, but unless you want to end up extending your sentence, you can't go around picking fights with—"

"Bitch heard me crying," Mercy started, cutting her off. "She heard me crying and do you know what she told me to do? Throw up a rope. Throw up a rope like Trish."

Dallas let her eyes close at that, realising she should have seen it coming. No wonder the girl had lost her shit. Being back in the prison where her girlfriend had taken her own life was bound to be hard enough without anyone throwing it in her face like that.

"I'm sorry," she tried, feeling like it was a woefully inadequate thing to say.

And sure enough, it was more or less thrown back in her face by the angry young woman across the tiny cell from her.

"Sorry don't bring her back. Sorry don't get me out of this shithole," Mercy said, sinking down on the edge of her narrow bunk with her head in her hands. "So what now? You come here thinking you got all the answers, so you tell me - what now? No? Didn't think so."

"I can't make everything better, I know that," Dallas said, with a sigh. "But first things first. I'm going to do whatever I can to get you out of here. Can you at least work with me on that?"

Mercy scoffed, shaking her head. "People been promising me shit and letting me down my whole fucking life. Why the fuck should you be any different?"

"Because I'm not making you any promises," the counsellor said simply, sitting down beside the scowling inmate. "I'm not going to lie to you. I'm not asking for anything from you … Well, I need to know you can keep your shit together if you _do_ get out of here. Because if I can somehow make this happen and you hurt another inmate, you can bet your ass I won't be able to help you a second time. But can I get you out of solitary? I'm not gonna tell you yes. I dunno. Hell, I'm not even supposed to be in here right now. But if you're prepared to let me help you, I will bust a fucking gut to try to make it happen. That's all I got to offer. So what do you say?"

Shrewd dark eyes met Dallas' clear green gaze, and it seemed as if there might be just a flicker of hope beneath of the layers of jaded scepticism. It made the girl look even younger than her years. Vulnerable, beneath that tough front.

"Maybe it just makes me dumb, but … I think I believe you," Mercy said, her voice low and on the verge of tears, making Dallas wonder how long it had been since anyone in a position of relative authority had shown any sign of being on the young woman's side. "I want to get out of here. It's making me even crazier than the dorm. And the nightmares … Sometimes I see her. Tricia. Just in the corner. Staring at me. Just h-hanging there. Please, you gotta get me outta here, Miss Ford. _Please_. I'll do whatever it takes."

"Okay then," Dallas said, standing up and taking a deep breath. "Me too."

* * *

"But-"

"I'm sorry, but my hands are tied on this one," Caputo said, leaning back in his desk chair, an apologetic look on his face. "I've already got a guard in my ear about allowing civilians in the solitary confinement area. I know, I know – you're staff and you were trying to do your job, but you have to see the position I'm in here. The guards have to be able to discipline the inmates as necessary, otherwise we'd have anarchy. Valduto did seriously injure another woman."

"And I understand that, but-"

"She will receive perfectly adequate care in the SHU, Dallas. I promise."

The counsellor shook her head at that. "Adequate? That's the best she can hope for? The girl clearly needs support, not to be shut away in isolation! You're only going to make the problem worse."

"Jarrett says-"

"Oh, Officer Jarrett. Yes, I'm sure he's quite the expert on the mental health of vulnerable women," Dallas bit out, pacing the office instead of taking the seat offered to her.

"Vulnerable? Valduto headbutted a chick twice her size and shattered her goddamn nose. She may have a fractured eye socket too. I'm trying to be reasonable here, but come on!"

"She's grieving and she's dealing with being incarcerated again just months after getting her freedom back."

Caputo forced what he seemed to think was a placating smile and held out his hands in a _what ya gonna do_ gesture. "Dallas, look, you're a caring person. I can see that. And that's good. But these women, don't let them fool you into thinking they're the victims. You know what they say. If you can't do the time …"

Dallas smiled tightly at that. "If only clichés gave everyone in society an equal shot at a decent life, huh, Joe?"

He seemed to sense he had pissed her off and started to try to backtrack, but she cut him off.

"So how does this work? Do I file my complaint to the warden, or the department?"

"Whoa, wait, what? What complaint?"

"Inadequate action to prevent a serious mental health crisis. You've had one suicide here in the last six months already. I'd be failing in my duty of care if I didn't try to make sure there wasn't another one. Especially if they were found to be linked."

"Jesus Christ …" Caputo groaned. "Okay, fine. How do we keep this shit off Fig's desk?"

Knowing she had just won the battle, Dallas managed to keep any sign of it off her face as she laid out her terms. "Reinstate Valduto into gen pop and let her come to me for counselling. We can re-evaluate where she's at in a few weeks. If that shows no sign of helping and if the violence continues, then you can take whatever disciplinary action you see fit."

Caputo wiped his hands over his face as he considered. "Deal."

"Wise man," Dallas said, throwing him a little wink as she turned on her heel and headed for the door, feeling his eyes on her on the way out of his office.

It was only when she was out of sight that she allowed herself to sag and lean against the hallway wall for support. One day and she was already having to fight against the system to get anything done. It was draining just thinking about what might lie ahead and she was suddenly conscious that rocking the boat too much might shorten her chances of getting her six-week trial extended. She had a funny feeling that if she went up against Fig, she'd have a tougher challenge on her hands than Caputo.

Heading to the staff breakroom for a much-needed caffeine hit before trying to find out how long it would take to get Mercy released from the SHU, she rubbed wearily at her temples. Christ, it was only Monday too …

"Dallas, hey."

"Oh, Joel, hi," she said, managing a smile for the guard as he appeared with his own apparent top-up of coffee in the travel cup he liked to use.

"You get anywhere on the whole SHU thing?"

"Mm-hmm. Caputo caved. Valduto's getting out. Or so I'm told. I'm gonna go back down and endear myself to Jarrett some more to make sure."

"No shit? Jeez, someone round here who actually gets stuff done. That'll rattle the upper echelons. Well, listen, uh, since you got a result an' all, I was wondering … Not me specifically," Luschek added hastily. "I mean, we were wondering … A few of us were thinking of going for a few drinks after work later. You could come. With us. You could come with us. Like mark your first day, get to know everyone. Uh, if you want …"

"Oh. Um …"

Shit. All the reasons she shouldn't had flashed through her brain even as his suggestion caught her off-guard, and she could practically see his own mind working as his face fell and he back-peddled like crazy.

"Hey, it's cool if you don't want to. Like if you've got plans and shit, or you just … don't feel like it," Luschek rambled awkwardly, scratching the back of his head and doing his best to sound like it was no big deal. "Whatever. Just a thought. Probably dumb. Like, it's Monday. Mondays are shit. Another time, maybe …"

Dammit. She didn't want to look like an asshole, cutting herself off from her co-workers. She just wasn't sure letting them into her messed-up life was such a good idea right now. Any of them.

"Another time," she tried, latching onto the out Luschek had given her. "Sorry, I'd better get going. See about Valduto. Thanks though, for the invite. Really."

"No worries," he mumbled. "No worries at all."

Dallas hurried off, bypassing the breakroom and heading straight for the SHU, missing the moment Luschek simply leaned his forehead against the wall with a groan and pretended to blow his brains out.

* * *

 **To be continued ...**


	8. Imperfect Ten

**A/N: Sorry for the delay - just had a lot of work and travel going on in the real world. Thanks to those reading and especially those who left reviews. I don't always get a chance to reply, but I definitely appreciate it and it's great to hear your thoughts!**

* * *

 **8\. Imperfect Ten**

"What's eating you? I mean, you're rocking the life-both-sucks-and-blows vibe a little hard there, man. Even for you."

"Don't you have someone else to annoy?"

"No," Nicky smirked, hands on her hips as she surveyed Luschek's slumped shoulders and gloomy face that couldn't seem to find the energy to drift into outright grumpiness. "Everyone else finds me delightful."

"I find that hard to believe," came the reply, as he sat at one of the picnic-style tables outside.

"That's your problem – no imagination. Come on, what's going on? Lemme guess … You cracked on to Blondie and she shot your sorry ass down?"

Nicky was already chuckling to herself at her little joke when she clocked his startled look and her own eyes widened in that way she had, all surprise she might have actually struck gold, revelling in the unexpected win.

"No fucking _way_! Jesus, Luschek, that might be the fastest I've ever seen you move," she chortled. "She's been here, like, five minutes, for crying out loud. And can we please talk for a moment about how supremely out of your depth you are here?"

"God, get a grip, Nichols. Do I _look_ retarded to you?"

She cocked her head to consider. "You really want me to answer that?"

"Fuck you," Luschek retorted, albeit with no real malice in his tone. "Look, you got this whole thing wrong …"

"Of course I do. Which is why you're sat here with a face like a well-smacked backside and, when I hazard a wild guess at the reason, you couldn't look more caught out! Hey, don't go blaming me – I was only joking. I, god help me, actually thought you'd have more sense. You know, know your catchment, man."

"What are you-"

Nicky grinned as she circled him, a critical look in her shrewd eyes. "Oh, come on. From the wrong side of thirty, you gotta have learned your limits when it comes to women by now. You … You're talking, what, sixes? Maybe a seven if, say, the tits are a seven, but the ol' mental faculties are more like a five. Or there's booze or a shed-load of narcotics involved. Blondie? She's the closest thing to a ten this place has seen since the Amazonian goddess that is Alex Vause got herself banged up. Although, I gotta say …" Nicky broke off to muse. "Vause's propensity to gravitate towards highly-strung women takes even her a rung or two down the ladder. Guess that's what puts her within my reach …"

Luschek raised an eyebrow at that, despite himself. "You and Vause? Like you and Vause, you and Vause?"

"What can I say? I don't like to kiss and tell," Nicky smirked as she threw the exact words he had once used on her back at him. "But I fucked her. And you know I ain't bullshitting."

"Huh," the guard managed, looking reluctantly impressed. "What about Morello?"

"We got an arrangement," Nicky shrugged, seeming to close down a little at that. "Hey, I figure if she gets to marry some guy, I get to fuck around. How very modern, huh?"

"Nah, I mean, she's within your reach, right? So you don't think she's a ten?"

Conflicting emotions passed over the wild-haired inmate's face and she chewed her lip before finding an answer. Or at least as much of an answer as she was prepared to give him. "Maths don't work on Lorna."

It wasn't a subject she really wanted to go into.

It was funny – Nicky wasn't exactly shy, and part of her didn't care who knew the intimacies of her messed-up relationship with Lorna. The physical side at least. Prison didn't exactly offer a lot in the way of privacy and part of her was kinda proud for everyone to know she was the one the little Italian turned to for comfort. For pleasure. On the other hand though, the over-analytical part of her brain knew that she tried to keep up a blasé front of just being in it for the sex. She was less keen to admit just how deep in she'd gotten with a woman who, despite evidence to the contrary, believed she was straight.

And, oh boy, was she in deep.

She didn't even think she could look to get off the hook by blaming her addictive personality. Sure, she craved the pretty brunette just like she'd craved her many other vices. But it was more than that. Take the sex out of the equation – as Lorna was prone to trying to do when her guilty conscience caught up with her – and Nicky still wanted to be there for the girl. Was prepared to play along with the _just friends_ riff. Or at least try. Mostly.

In other words, she was fucked. Even when she wasn't.

But she wasn't about to overshare on all that, even with Luschek. Weirdly, she could kinda picture hanging with him on the outside world. Their shared taste for twisted humour, illicit substances, and attractive women probably would have made them natural wingmen for each other. And, despite that not-quite-forgiven dip in their unconventional friendship of sorts, Nicky had to admit – if only to herself – that her imagination often let her pretend they were shooting the shit while perched on stools in some dive bar or other. Not sat in a federal corrections facility, on opposite sides of the system.

Some things she just didn't want to talk about though. With anyone.

She should have steered them back to safer turf. There was still plenty of mileage in pushing the guard's buttons over the new counsellor, just for example. There was, however, something equally awkward as her entanglement with Lorna to clear up first. Something that had been lingering unsaid, both in the current silence that had fallen between them and in most of their admittedly more limited dealings with each other since the resolution of the riot.

"Yo, Luschek," Nicky tried, less aggressively than usual after deciding to bite the bullet while he seemed a little preoccupied and maybe less likely to turn on her if he didn't like where the conversation was headed.

"What, Nichols?" he prompted, when that was as far as she got. "Cat got your tongue? Hey, there's probably a pussy joke in there somewhere …"

Eyeing him warily, she for once passed on her tried and tested approach of taking nothing seriously and got straight to the point. "The shit that went down during the riot," she started, sticking her tongue in her cheek as she searched for the right words. "Like, with the guards. The strip searches. The not-so-subtle rapey vibe. Look, I ain't down with that, man. I think I missed the worst of the show, but I got caught up on the cliff notes and … Well, I ain't that vindictive. There was a time I pretty much wanted to smother you in your sleep. But if I'd been there for that ... Don't go getting the wrong idea. I ain't saying I'd take a bullet for ya. But I'd have, I dunno, tried my usual smooth talking to get you out of a bad situation, all right? Just because some guards are piece-of-shit rapists, that don't make raping lazy-shit guards right."

Luschek heard her out, an unreadable expression on his face in the moments before he started staring at his awkwardly shuffling feet, clearly not loving the memory of being paraded in his underwear in front of a baying mob of volatile, aggressive women.

"You saying you'd have defended my honour?" he said finally, sounding like he had gotten what she was driving at and maybe even appreciated it, but like he was also clearly trying to keep things light. Then it was his turn to recall a past conversation and twist it around. "What, are you like in love with me or something?"

Nicky smirked. "Now you're just trying to make Blondie jealous. So … you gonna tell me about your kamikaze bid to jump on that or what?"

Luschek groaned, realising she wasn't going to get that idea out of her head now it had been planted. "I did not try to jump on her!" he protested.

"Sure you didn't, big fella."

"I. Did. _Not_!"

"Well, why the fuck not?" Nicky demanded, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "Jesus, Luschek, you gonna spend your nights sat in your y-fronts in your parents' basement for the rest of your life?"

He spluttered at that. "I don't live in my parents' fucking basement, Nichols!"

"You might as well. You'd save a fortune and it's not like you're getting any action."

Glaring at her, he struggled for a comeback before something seemed to dawn on him and he jabbed a finger in her direction. "Hang on! A minute ago, you were waxing lyrical on how out of my league I was – now you're up my ass for not going for it with Dallas? Can you at least be consistent when you're being a pain in my ass?"

Nicky held up a finger of her own. "Okay, point numero uno – I am not going anywhere near your ass. Just to be clear. Two – yanking your chain about your incompatibility with insanely hot blondes is not nearly as much fun as I thought it would be. Probably because I'm realising you don't exactly have an over-inflated sense of self in the first place and it's already starting to feel like kicking a cripple when he's down. Three – stop being such a fucking pussy!"

He shook his head and wiped a hand over his face in exasperation. "How am I being a pussy, huh?"

"You're sulking over something, man," she shrugged. "I dunno what exactly, except that it's her. You're too chickenshit to ask her out, but you're like mad at her or something for not being psychic and just somehow _knowing_ that you want to ask her out. Or … Fuck, you're pissed off because you don't think you stand a chance – even though you're not prepared to give the grown-ass woman who probably knows her own fucking mind the chance to actually have a say in all this. I'm close, right? Right ballpark, wrong play?"

She didn't think he'd relent, despite her insistence. But, with something close to a growl, he did.

"I just thought we could go for drinks after work, like all of us. Mark her first proper day," Luschek admitted finally, trying to play it down and failing miserably. "That's what people who work together do. That's normal, right? And yeah, fine, I kinda just wanted an excuse to … You know. See her outside of this place. Get to know her. She wasn't up for it. Probably worked out why I was really asking and didn't want to know. Probably too nice to tell me to stop making an idiot of myself."

Nicky rolled her eyes and barked out a laugh. "That's it? Well, you are a fucking idiot, that much I can confirm. Jesus, Joel, that's pretty lame. A Monday night with Litchfield's not-so-finest? I'd fucking run a mile myself."

"Uh, because they're guards and you're an inmate."

"No, numbnuts, because they're a bunch of boring bastards!" she declared. "Look, don't take this as me going soft on you or something, but you … You, I could tolerate on the outside. We probably wouldn't exactly be the best influence on each other, all things considered. But we could go for a beer. Catch a game. Hang out. That lot? Especially collectively? Hell no. And trust me, it would be hell. Cut the woman some slack. Besides, you really want her hanging out with Stratman after hours? His tongue practically hangs out every time she walks past him."

"Maybe you're right … Hold on, what?"

"Oh yeah," Nicky nodded solemnly, albeit with a devious glint in her eye. "I'd say you got competition from the stripper, Lover-Boy. Not to mention the fact the delectable _Miss Ford_ can counsel me any day. And when I say counsel, I'm thinking less about me sitting on her couch and more her sitting on my face …"

"Shut up, Nichols," Luschek sighed, only succeeding in making her grin. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

"Actually, yes," she said. "Heard on the grapevine Red's coming back up the hill. Gotta go see if it's true. Might be something to do with your little girlfriend – I heard she was the one who busted Mercy outta SHU. Course, you can't believe half the bullshit that spreads among these crazy bitches."

"It's true. About Mercy. I dunno about Red," he said, realising too late that he'd let the girlfriend dig slide. "And she's not my girlfriend. Obviously."

For once, Nicky eased up on winding him up to turn serious again for a second, delivering her parting shot just before ambling off across the yard. "Wasn't right sticking that kid in solitary. Getting her out? Took balls. And a heart. Guess Blondie might be more than just a pretty face …"

* * *

"There has to be some kind of catch."

Alex rolled her eyes at her fiancée's matter-of-fact proclamation. She loved Piper, of course she did, but she hadn't been back at Litchfield five minutes and she was already back on her high horse.

"I'm usually down with a healthy dose of cynicism," Alex said, adjusting her glasses on her nose as they sat side-by-side on the bottom bunk, their gazes flitting from each other to the young woman stood in front of them. "But, Pipes, some things just are what they are."

"I'm telling you, there ain't no catch. She wouldn't play me like that."

"Mercy …" Piper started, plastering a gentle smile on to go with her patronising tone.

"Don't _Mercy_ me like I don't know what I'm talking about! She got me outta SHU. That's it. Told me I don't owe her nothin'. I just go to counselling with her once a week and-"

"And there it is," Piper chipped in. " _Counselling_. See my sarcastic air quotes?"

"Would you chill?" Alex tried, not quite sure whether to be amused or exasperated. "Counselling. She is a counsellor. That seems pretty reasonable."

"Yes, but what _kind_ of counselling?"

"Well, I doubt it's electric-shock therapy or something. This Ford'll sit her down, talk out her feelings. Fuck, it might even actually help. She's probably better qualified than Healy ever was."

"But-"

"Piper," Alex tried, taking her hand with her good one. "I know the whole realisation that even guards can be evil fuckers shook your nice little upper-class world view, but not absolutely everyone has an angle. And if _I'm_ saying that …"

Piper pursued her lips stubbornly. "I don't want to be right," she tried quietly. "But I don't know how you of all people can seriously tell me to trust a guard. Not after everything."

Alex acknowledged that with a little tilt of her head and a sigh. "If it helps, technically she's not a guard."

"It doesn't help."

Mercy threw herself down on her bunk with a scowl. "Well, I fucking trust her, okay? She did right by me, so I ain't gonna hear you diss her before you even give her a chance."

"Give who a chance?" came a distinctive lilting voice from the doorway of the cube. "And what do you think you are doing back here, _kotyonok_ \- I thought I warned you to live your life and never look back?"

Red.

* * *

 **To be continued ...**


	9. Scarred

**9\. Scarred**

"Not such a good look, is it?"

Nicky had searched everywhere for Red, having heard the Russian had finally been returned from Max, where they had taken those deemed most to blame for the worst of the riot. She was even starting to feel just a little put out that the woman she thought of as her mother hadn't sought her out straight away. Then she stuck her head into the bathroom block, just to check, and caught a glimpse of that distinctive red hair.

But, with her head scarf removed and her fingers raking through what was left of her fiery locks, it was plain to see that Red still bore the tell-tale signs of her brutal run-in with Piscatella. At least the angry wounds where she had been all but scalped had healed, although it would take a lot longer for the bald patches to be covered by more than a delicate fuzz.

Red's resigned gaze met Nicky's in the mirror.

"Not how you had imagined seeing your fierce mother, huh? This stupid old woman would have a hard time keeping you on the straight and narrow."

"Don't say that, Red," Nicky tried, coming closer. "That's not what you are. Not to anyone, but especially not to me. You're still here, still standing. After … After everything. Fuck, what he did to you! I wanted to stop him – you have to know that. I wanted to, but-"

"You do not have to feel guilty, Nicky," Red insisted, still speaking to their reflections as she moved to tie her head scarf back in place. "What could you have done against such an animal?"

"At least Alex tried."

"Nicky …" Red sighed, in that way that always made her prison daughter think of proper moms, who tried to both soothe and scold at once. Not like her actual birth mother who was usually too preoccupied to do either.

The older woman turned and held out her arms, allowing Nicky to walk straight into them and hold on for dear life, relishing the chance to just be a little girl again, if only for a moment or two.

"I wish things could just go back to how they were," she murmured.

"Life was never rose-tinted, Nicky," Red said. "Not in this god-forsaken place. Not ever. Now, come. Walk with me. Tell me what I've missed."

* * *

"This is all I need …" Dallas muttered to herself, as she set off down the hall - not entirely sure which way she should be going, but still determined not to let the hurdles thrown up get in the way of her aims.

She'd left a couple of the guards in her office, wrestling with an old couch she'd convinced them to help her haul out of a storage room where it had been discarded since Fig apparently redecorated her own lair. COs Stratman and Ryder. Or Blake. She hadn't quite managed to remember which was his last name yet.

Leaving them to it hadn't sat well with her, in case it fuelled their apparent thinking that their manliness had been required to come to the aid of some delicate little damsel in distress. But the pair of them, at least if first impressions were anything to go by, seemed to mostly keep their brains in their biceps, so she figured there was no point wasting them. Besides, she didn't have time to think about sorting out her newly commandeered furniture when Mercy hadn't shown up for her hastily rescheduled appointment.

Dallas had been so hopeful that the girl would actually give it a chance. And that had been the grounds on which she'd helped get her out of solitary after all. They'd agreed that, after an hour or so to get resettled back in the dorm, Mercy would give counselling a fair shot. Strike while the iron's hot, so to speak.

So, after all that effort getting through to the fiery inmate, Dallas wasn't going to simply give up on her.

Too many people seemed to have done that already.

"Yo, you wanna watch where you're walking, lady."

The automatic apology came to Dallas' lips before she realised what had happened. She'd been so busy thinking about the best approach to take with Mercy, when she finally tracked her down, that she hadn't been watching where she'd been going and had rounded a corner only to head straight into the path of a group of loitering inmates.

"Yeah, you better be sorry," one of them all but snarled, making her companions smirk on either side of her as all three of them looked her up and down.

"Hey, you that counsellor they all talkin' about …" one of the women - with short dark hair, seriously questionable dental work, and a glint of interest in her eye - said. "I heard you pullin' all kinds of favours already. What we gotta do to get in on that, huh?"

"Uh, that's not what-"

"Oh, so we ain't good enough for your preferential treatment. What, 'cause we ain't part of that little dyke club? We ain't got nothin' you want, Blondie?"

Already on her guard, Dallas tried to step back in the face of the sudden hostility, only to find the others had circled to close in behind her. She took a breath, to keep both her nerves and her temper in check.

"Look, I don't know what you've heard, but that's not how it works," she tried, her hands held out in what she hoped was a placating fashion. "All that's on offer is counselling, and places are limited, so …"

"So you gonna get me on that list, bitch. _Zirconia._ Like the diamonds. Write that shit down."

Dallas bit her tongue against correcting her on the diamonds line, simply shaking her head as she made to push past the inmates and be on her way.

The mood changed, spiralling downwards, the instant a shiv slid from its hiding place up a sleeve.

"Not so fast, lady," Zirconia warned, the words clearly threatening even as she smiled. "One wrong step, one shout, and this is over. You know I ain't playin'."

The other two inmates acted quickly, one of them barking an order to move things off the main hallway, flanking Dallas and forcing her into the nearest bathroom. And the counsellor had no real choice but to comply, stumbling just a little in her heels as she was made to back up and just hoping that going along with things would at least stop any of them lashing out before she'd had a chance to think of a way out of this.

Her heart was already racing along with her mind though. The last place she wanted to be stuck with a bunch of angry inmates was somewhere isolated and where they could easily block the only way out.

The worried blonde eyed the makeshift weapon, quickly realising it was a toothbrush with a razorblade melted into the end where the bristles should be. It might not have looked that impressive, but all it had to do was nick an artery and it would prove how deadly it could be. Could she grab it before it came to that though …?

"Don't even fucking think about it," one of the hard-faced inmates warned, as if she had read her mind.

"What's the matter, Blondie? You scared? I kinda like that," Zirconia smirked, moving in close and letting the tip of the blade trail down Dallas' cheek.

The counsellor realised she was holding her breath, her entire body tensed and her fists clenched by her sides. "Didn't you learn anything from what happened here?" she ground out. "From the riot? You'll end up in Max."

The inmate laughed that off, dismissing the suggestion with a casual wave of the blade that at least saw it lifted from her target's face. "They ain't even got room for what they got down there. Besides, you good at getting people out of places they don't wanna be. Fair's fair, Little Miss Counsellor."

Backed into a corner, literally and figuratively, Dallas' heart sank and she let her head tilt back against the cold, hard tiles, still trying not to show that she knew just how desperate her situation was. Even though she did.

She absolutely did.

* * *

"Like it'd kill them to change one fucking light bulb …"

Muttering to himself under his breath, Luschek – for once – had a valid reason to be headed to the staff room when he wasn't actually on a break. Yet another bulb had blown apparently. Probably a side effect of buying the cheapest replacements going, but that was so-called efficiency savings for you.

Still, the place would probably be empty, so he definitely wasn't above sneaking a quiet ten minutes to himself while he was at it. Twenty if he was really lucky. He'd take whatever he could get, if it meant not having to listen to inmates griping at him for a while. Or worse, Caputo. Or worse still, Fig.

No sooner had he laid a hand on the break room door than he heard voices from inside though, and his head dropped in weary exasperation. So much for that.

"Fuck," came the groan. "That couch must be lined with lead or some shit … No chance in hell I'd have agreed to lug it all that way if I'd realised she wasn't sticking around to show her _appreciation_ …"

Stratman. And someone else as well, only Luschek couldn't make out the voice. Oh well, he shrugged. At least it wasn't anyone important. And by that he meant someone who might rat him out for downing tools. He didn't have much of an issue with most of his fellow COs and those who were newer were easy enough to get along with, for the most part.

"A little bit _inappropriate_? You gotta be shitting me, dude!" came a laugh of disbelief. "You really gotta lighten up. I'm handing out compliments here - it ain't like I insulted her … Hey, all I'm saying is if she feels like rewarding me for my services, I'm more than happy to help break in that couch …"

"Gentlemen," Luschek interrupted, with a nod for his colleagues as he strolled into the room. "Working hard, or hardly working?"

"S'up, Luschek," Blake replied, jerking his head in the direction of Stratman. "You're just in time to have to listen to Stratman's theory on why he thinks he's got a shot with the new counsellor."

"That so?" Luschek asked, hoping he wasn't doing as piss-poor a job at sounding casual as it sounded even to his own ears.

"Whatever," the guard in question drawled, flipping off his friend as he spun a chair backwards and sat down straddling it. "I'm telling you, once I turn it on ... those panties gonna drop. It's just a fact."

"Facts … What even are they these days?" Luschek tried to laugh it off, but his brain was struggling to come up with a witty alternative facts line when all he could hear was Nicky's voice in his head.

 _You got competition from the stripper._

Fuck.

* * *

"Look, why don't you put the blade down and think about this for a second?"

Dallas knew that was a long shot, but she wasn't really expecting the riled-up inmate to comply. She just wanted to stall a little. Buy herself some more thinking time. It wasn't like there was any point hoping someone else would come to the rescue. She was more likely to see another inmate than a guard, and chances were that would only add to her problem.

"Don't need to think," Zirconia drawled. "The way out's easy, Blondie. You get me on your little list and you get me the fuck outta this place, the way you did for that Valduto bitch."

"I got her out of SHU after she'd already been there a week," Dallas argued. "I didn't get her out of jail. I didn't get her special treatment. She shouldn't have been in there. I'd have done it for anyone in the same position, but I can't just-"

Zirconia got right up in her face again, pressing the shiv hard against her cheek. Hard enough to draw blood, Dallas realised with a little gasp of pain.

"This look like a face that wants to hear _can't_?"

She could lie. She could tell them everything they wanted to hear. That they were on the counselling list. That she'd get them some kind of clemency deal. She could lie to get the fuck out of here, to save her skin.

But she couldn't make it happen. Not without bumping someone off the list who needed to be there. Someone with a genuine need, someone she could maybe help. So, even if she was willing to lie to get herself out of a hole, she'd only end up digging herself deeper in.

Dallas closed her eyes, but only for a second. Then her mind was made up.

"I … I'm not going to lie to you. I can't do what you want."

Zirconia managed to look both shocked and furious that she hadn't gotten her own way, her face contorted in a snarl of frustration as Dallas guessed she was left facing some tough choices of her own around how far she was prepared to take this.

"Stupid _puta_!" she all but spat. "Be a shame to fuck up that pretty face … Don't mean I won't."

Dallas' green eyes locked on the angry woman in front of her and her own face hardened, even as that small drop of blood slipped like a tear down her cheek.

"Do it. But you won't see daylight this side of sixty," she warned. "Then who'll be the stupid _puta_?"

With a howl of anger, the blade left the counsellor's cheek, but only so Zirconia could draw it back to lash out – the razor glinting under the harsh fluorescent lights of the bathroom.

* * *

 **To be continued ...**


	10. Clusterfuck

**A/N: Apologies for leaving you with that cliffhanger for so long - I had intended to update sooner, but then ended up having to travel for work again unexpectedly. Thank you as always to those reading and to those who took time to review. I always enjoy hearing what readers think and, to the guest who confessed to shipping a certain CO and counsellor, that definitely made me smile lol! :) Anyway, here we go ...**

* * *

 **10\. Clusterfuck**

"The fuck you doin'?"

It would sound like such a cliché afterwards, but it all happened so fast. In a split second really. And it would only be later that anyone would piece together exactly what had happened – when they came to realise that the Litchfield resident who had inadvertently intruded on the little stand-off had swiftly sussed what was going on and tackled her fellow inmate to make her drop the makeshift weapon.

As it was, amid a white-hot sting of pain, Dallas simply found herself knocked to the ground in a tangle with her caught-off-guard captor, both of them scrambling to get back on their feet and both spotting the discarded blade at the same time. It was closer to Zirconia though, and she knew it, grinning as she reached for it – only for a booted foot to come down heavily on her hand, making her howl.

"Back up, bitch," came the terse order.

"This ain't your business," Zirconia said from where she was still sprawled on the ground, her voice coming out in a hiss of pain as she tried to free her trapped fingers. "Get the fuck offa me! Don't just stand there – get her offa me!"

But Mercy had already bent down to retrieve the shiv by the time anyone could think about moving and she brandished it in one tightly clenched fist, as if daring the rest of them to try something. No one did.

"Get the hell out," she snapped, watching as the rest of the crew scuttled off with dark glares but not a word of protest, leaving a furious Zirconia on the floor in front of her and the counsellor huddled in the corner with her head down. "The fuck did you do to her?"

"She's a guard, _puta_. Whose side you on?" Zirconia scowled.

"Not yours, that's for sure," Mercy scoffed, grinding her boot down a little harder on the trapped fingers beneath it and making her fellow inmate howl again. "She could actually make this place _better_ and this is the shit you pull! You dumb bitch, you ain't got a clue. You better hope she ain't hurt-"

"Or what? You gonna snitch? For a _guard_?"

"I ain't no snitch and she ain't no fucking guard," Mercy all but spat, lifting her foot from Zirconia's hand only to plant it square on her chest and use it to shove her backwards, sending her sprawling. "Go on, get the fuck outta here and don't make me tell you twice."

Spitting curses in Spanish, Zirconia did as she was told, shifting her dark glare from Mercy to Dallas as she went – her exit finally allowing the counsellor's shoulders to slump in relief as she sat leaning against the cold tiles of the bathroom wall.

"Uh, Miss Ford? You okay?" Mercy tried, seeming less sure of what to do now the threat had gone.

"M-Mercy …" Dallas managed, thrown by the extent of the violence and feeling they had gotten off lightly, all things considered. "Thank you. I … I'm okay."

But as the counsellor tried to get to her feet, she finally lifted her head and Mercy just about managed to hold back a gasp.

"You … You don't look okay," the inmate said, dropping the shiv as if it had burned her, knowing the blade had to be responsible for the blood pouring from the other woman's face and staining her shirt. "Oh shit!"

"It's … It's just a … little cut …" Dallas tried, her fingers seeking out the wound and coming away bright red.

That was as far as she got before Mercy's anxious voice seemed to drift so very far away, and the world simply kaleidoscoped as the floor rushed up to meet her, before everything faded into welcome black.

* * *

All it took was one glimpse of the latest clusterfuck coming his way and Caputo feared his heart, which suddenly seemed lodged in his throat, might actually stop.

He'd already had to deal with two dead prison officers in the space of a few months. He did _not_ need any more goddamn staff upping the body count. Especially an attractive civilian the press would have a field day with. Christ, he could already see the headlines. And Fig's reaction.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

His eyes were still wide in shock at the sight of the barely conscious blood-soaked counsellor stumbling as she made her way towards him, an arm slung around the shoulders of an inmate who was struggling to keep her upright, and he wiped a hand over his face before stepping forward and finally finding his voice. "Valduto, what the holy hell are you _doing_?! Let Miss Ford go and back away."

"I can't," Mercy tried to explain, one arm around the blonde's waist as she tried to support her weight. "She blacked out and-"

"Let her go or, so help me, you'll spent the rest of your sentence in solitary! In Max!" Caputo barked, panic in his voice and a finger hovering over the call button of his radio. Although the last thing he wanted to have to do was make that call for back-up and draw attention to yet another shit-storm unfolding on his watch.

"I didn't do nothing!" Mercy protested. "For real, Mr Caputo – I _found_ her like this!"

That did make him pause for a second. Aside from a few run-ins with other inmates, and not usually of her own making, Valduto didn't really have a track record of violence – certainly not against staff. It was plausible that she might have simply stumbled on something she wasn't really a part of.

Or, of course, she could be lying through her teeth to save her own sorry skin. Who the fuck could you trust in a goddamn prison? Certainly not the inmates. And, as it happened, not even all the staff.

Fuck.

"You got a weapon?" Caputo demanded, inwardly chastising himself for his own stupidity in thinking even for a second that she might tell him if she did. But, at the same time, he did fancy himself as a fairly good judge of people. He thought he'd be able to tell if she was lying. Helluva gamble, he realised.

Mercy shook her head.

"If you're lying to me …"

"I ain't, I swear. Mr Caputo, you gotta fucking help her. It looks bad and she … She's been good to me."

Something about the look on the young woman's anxious face hit home and, in that moment, he found he couldn't doubt her sincerity. He hurried forward, cursing under his breath the entire time, and grabbed the counsellor just as she seemed to completely pass out again.

"I'll get her to Medical. You get cleaned up. No, I don't wanna hear it - no arguments. And don't breathe a word about this to anyone, you hear me?"

Mercy could do nothing but nod.

* * *

Distracted by her concern for the counsellor who had somehow gained her trust, Mercy drifted back to the bathroom, her stomach churning at the sight of the blood on her own hands and smeared over the floor.

She hurried to the sinks and started to scrub her skin clean under the hot faucet. But all at once, another thought struck her and she abandoned her task, even leaving the water running to search the floor.

No sign of the shiv.

She'd dropped it after Zirconia had crawled out of there, but she supposed she could have come back and found it. Or anyone who wandered into the bathroom could have stumbled across it and taken it. They couldn't have thought it through though. Who would want to risk getting their prints on a blade that had clearly been used to cut someone? And from the amount of blood on the floor, anyone walking in would have quickly worked out that some seriously messed up shit had gone down.

"Jesus Christ, Mercy, what did you do?"

Mercy supposed she must have looked plenty guilty with blood still on her hands and staining her khaki scrub top, but she couldn't help rolling her eyes nonetheless.

"Why's everyone always gotta think the worst of me, huh?" she snapped, rounding on a wide-eyed Alex Vause.

"Uh, because you're stood in the middle of a blood-bath, looking like an extra from Carrie?"

"This ain't on me," Mercy said. "But I ain't got time to explain right now. We got bigger problems."

"Oh no," Alex shook her head immediately. "What's this _we_ bullshit? I do _not_ need to be caught in the middle of anything right now. I'm keeping my head down. You should be doing the same."

"Listen, this was those Mexican bitches – the crazy one with the teeth had a blade and now it's gone!"

"I'm pretty sure they're Dominican, for a start …"

"Did you fucking hear me?" Mercy said, incredulous that she was apparently being brushed aside. "Someone out there's got a blade. We gotta find it before they decide to use it!"

"You keep saying _we_ ," Alex said, adjusting her glasses. "Why is that again?"

"Because it could be your throat, or your little girlfriend's, next time. Now, you gonna help or not?"

Alex tutted loudly before turning on her heel. "Fine," she said shortly, the words thrown over her shoulder. "But we have to get some of the others in on this. We can't search the whole prison between the two of us."

"We can't let word get out though, or every crazy bitch in this place is gonna be looking. And some of these skanks are plenty dangerous enough already."

Alex conceded the point with a little nod. "Red needs to know. She can decide who else. Keep it in the family."

"Fine, whatever," Mercy said, prepared to agree to almost anything if it would see some action being taken. "Now, let's go!"

* * *

Given the turn the conversation had taken in the staff break room, Luschek was almost glad of the sudden interruption when it came. He was pretty sure most people would have assumed Stratman's line of frat boy-style bragging and bravado about women would have been right up his street too. But, as he was finding out himself, it turned out even he wasn't that juvenile. Or at least not in quite the same way. Maybe it was just a by-product of not having had a whole lot to brag about in that department of late …

Although, there was also the fact he wasn't really enjoying the detailed breakdown of their new counsellor's many attributes. He wasn't exactly in a position to be hitching his cart to some feminist wagon, but he was pretty sure Dallas ever finding out her male colleagues passed the time by trying to guess her bra size was only ever going to make her super uncomfortable and he didn't want any part of that.

"Hey, you're keeping pretty quiet, man," Stratman grinned. "Come on, what you sayin'? Cs, am I right?"

It was at that point, just as Luschek was trying to think of a subtle diversion, that the door opened with a bang and a red-faced Scott O'Neill lumbered in, huffing as if he'd been running – although, if precedent was anything to go by, that was fairly unlikely.

"Have you guys heard the latest? Wanda's gonna go ape-shit when she hears …" he panted, dropping down onto the nearest chair and mopping at his brow with an over-sized handkerchief. "Jesus, it's all over the prison. I heard it from a couple of the old timers out in the yard – y'know, over by the patch of the garden where they grow the beans-"

"Heard what?" Blake interrupted, seeing that the huge corrections officer was headed off on a tangent there might be no turning him from.

"Stabbing," O'Neill declared, with surprising brevity after all. "In one of the bathrooms."

"Shit," Stratman shook his head. "Are these crazy bitches always trying to kill each other? Who got shanked? I'm betting it was one of the Spanish _chicas_. You can see the power struggle coming a mile off-"

"That's just it. Wasn't an inmate that got it."

"Fuck, they got a CO?" Luschek chimed in. "How come there was nothing on the radios? No alarm?"

"Not a CO. And you make sure you tell Wanda that if she asks, or she'll have me back delivering mail or stacking shelves before you can say _voluntary resignation_."

"But hang on, if it wasn't an inmate and it wasn't a CO …"

Almost seeming to relish having a captive audience, O'Neill took a long moment to look around at those gathered, taking in the obvious confusion on their faces in the pause for optimum dramatic effect.

"They got the counsellor," he said solemnly, unwittingly sending Luschek's heart plummeting into his boots. "On her goddamn first day too."

* * *

 **To be continued ...**


	11. A Stitch In Time

**11\. A Stitch In Time**

"No," Red said firmly.

"But …"

"I do not want to hear it, Mercy," the Russian insisted, crossing her arms over her chest and turning her back on the younger woman.

"Red, she is kinda right," Alex chipped in from the corner of the cube back in the Suburbs. "Fuck knows what'll happen if that shiv gets into the wrong hands. You didn't see the blood back there. Someone needs to take care of this."

"Girls, girls, girls," Red said, her voice sounding wearier than they had ever heard it. "I have told you – I am done with all that. I am too old, too tired. Too broken. I just want to keep out of the way. Maybe if they let me back in my kitchen, fine, I'll go there. If not, you all just keep eating shit and learn to live with it. So what?"

Nursing her broken arm, her mind inadvertently drifting back to when they had been trapped and at Piscatella's mercy, Alex sympathised, she really did. But she also knew, all too well, the dangers of allowing a power vacuum to take hold. The women needed their mother figures, yes – Red for their own little dysfunctional family, Gloria for the Latinas, Taystee for her girls. But there also needed to be someone who kept them all in check. Someone who looked out for her own, but instilled respect – however grudgingly – in everyone else. Without that, things had a tendency to get real dangerous real fast.

For so many years, Red had revelled in that role and, right now, there was no one else. They all needed her. Even those who didn't know it yet.

"So you're okay with letting things slide again?" Alex tried, silencing Mercy with a glare. She didn't trust the younger girl to have the tact to get anywhere once Red dug her heels in, and screaming and pouting certainly wasn't going to get them anywhere against the older woman who could be as ice-cold as she could be fiery. "You're okay with having to sleep with one eye open every night, not knowing who's carrying a weapon? If you risk waking up with a blade at your throat for no reason? You're okay with someone maybe stepping up who won't give a shit if this place gets flooded with drugs again? If Nicky ends up strung out on heroin again? If-"

"So many _ifs_ , Alex," Red sighed. "It is hard enough to get through everything this place throws at us without conjuring up fanciful _what ifs_. Besides, you really think anyone is going to listen to some foolish old woman? No, it is long past time for me to move aside."

"Because that's worked out so well in the past," Alex said, rolling her eyes. "Look, we don't need Maria going all gangland on us, or Piper accidentally rallying the Nazi contingent. We need _you_. Even when you're mad at us and ranting in Russian about how we're worse than children and you don't know why you bother when you didn't even give birth to any of us. Red, you're the closest thing to a mom most of us have got. And if this is about Piscatella … Only one of you fucking survived and it wasn't that monster. When it mattered most, you were strong. Stronger than that piece of shit."

"And then I went to Max," Red said finally. "And it made this place look like a piece of piss. I'm _tired_ , Alex. So very tired. You ask too much of your so-called mother. Mothers, they are expected to be there for their children, for support, for comfort, for _love_. And I love you girls, I do. But most mothers are not expected to … to shut down heroin pushers, or search for lethal weapons, take on guards or gangs ... The monsters scaring their children are figments of their imagination lurking under their beds. Not flesh and blood, wrapped in Kevlar and carrying guns …"

"So you're turning your back on us," Mercy said, her voice surprisingly quiet as she finally spoke up from near the doorway of the cube, her arms wrapped around herself.

"No! _Zvezda moya_ … I want to be there for my girls as much as I can. I just … cannot be the person you need to lead this place. I am not turning my back."

"Just as well," Mercy said, her gaze lifting from the floor to meet the older woman's briefly. "Because, when this place goes to hell again, gonna be plenty of bitches ready to stick a knife in it. I'm out."

"Mercy …"

"Let her go, Red," Alex said. "She'll be okay."

"You do understand, don't you?"

The raven-haired inmate considered for a moment and nodded. "I don't like it, but I get it. I mean, I dread to think what this place could become with crazy bitches like Ouija and Zirconia calling the shots. But I do get it."

"You don't think that girlfriend of yours will try to … organise things more to her liking?"

"Piper does have a knack for ending up in the middle of shit – we both know that. But … well, I guess after the whole thing with Piscatella, we're all a little gun-shy. No pun intended."

Red mused on that, an unreadable look on her face. "Taken out by one of your own. Hell of a way to go."

"Hell is where that asshole belongs."

"On that we can agree," Red sighed.

* * *

"Nicky … Nicky, we can't. I am _with_ _child!_ " Lorna protested, somehow both sounding scandalised and reluctant to fend off her friend's latest advances.

"Ah, come on, Morello," Nicky grinned, taking the opportunity to back her up against the nearest wall and slide her hand beneath the waistband of her pants. "You know you want to. You gonna tell me I can't get that knocked-up little motor running?"

"Nicky!" came the gasp, turning into a little breathless moan even as it left the brunette's lips, and drawing nothing but a smirk of triumph in return.

Stealing a sloppy kiss, Nicky pushed her tangled locks back from her face and let up on her ministrations just long enough to start heading them both closer to the destination she had originally intended until she had gotten distracted – namely the nearest bathroom, in the hope they would find it vacant. Any port in a storm and all that. Besides, she didn't want to give Lorna the chance to chicken out. Not when she now knew they both wanted the same thing. After one monumental fuck-up, she'd never try to force the issue. But she was absolutely certain that any protests this time were just Lorna being Lorna – torn between what was right in front of her, and everything that she wanted to be waiting for her when she eventually got out.

Nicky had no such considerations to trouble her. Even if there had been someone on the outside, she lived in the now. Probably a by-product of realising your life could be turned on its head in a heartbeat, so what the fuck was the point in worrying about the future? Nah, it was definitely easier her way. And, right now, she couldn't see past getting Lorna and her luscious curves naked and fucking her until she screamed her name …

Except she could. She could see right over her shoulder to the vivid smears of blood all over the floor.

"What the fuck?"

Lorna turned to see what had widened her companion's eyes and immediately clapped a hand over her mouth in shock. "Oh. My. God. Jesus, Nicky, what do you think happened?"

"I dunno, doll, but it don't look good," Nicky frowned, looking up at the sound of footsteps.

"What are you doing here?"

"Could ask you the same thing, Mercy," Nicky said, eyebrows raised at the younger woman's flustered look. "You know something about this mess?"

"How long you been here? Did you see anyone else?" Mercy demanded, ignoring the question in favour of already starting to look around.

"No, now spill on what the fuck's going on. Whose blood's that?"

"Miss Ford's," Mercy sighed. "Don't just fucking stand there. Help me look for a shiv."

"God, Nicky, we shouldn't be here – if a guard comes …" Lorna warned, looking horrified, but the wild-haired inmate was too caught up in the details.

"Ford! The counsellor? Like the hot one? Holy shit. What the fuck did you do, Mercy?" Nicky demanded.

"It wasn't me," came the exasperated response. "Jesus. Look, that bitch Zirconia, she had a shiv. This was all her and that crew of hers. But the shiv, it got dropped. We have to find it – before someone else does."

Nicky raked a hand through her curls and shook her head in disbelief, finding it hard to take in what had apparently gone down, just when they had been hoping life at Litchfield might finally start to quieten down.

"What happened to Ford?"

"I … I dunno exactly. There was a lot of blood …"

"Yeah, we're fucking stood in it. She's alive though, right?"

"I think so. I hope so," Mercy said unsurely. "It looked bad. Her face …"

"Aw, fuck, man," Nicky sighed. "This shit right here? This is why we can't have nice things …"

* * *

Not for the first time in his life, or anything close to it, Luschek didn't have a clue what to do for the best.

He'd been thrown by O'Neill's news, realising he'd been more rattled than he liked to think by just about everything that had gone down at his place of work of late. Dead guards, dead inmates … And for a second, he'd actually thought Dallas was dead too. O'Neill and his goddamn histrionics.

And yeah, he realised that, whatever his first impressions might have been, he barely knew the girl – but somehow that almost made it fucking worse. Like she'd just breezed in, brightened the place up, and then been brutally cut down before she'd even really had a chance. He didn't usually give a shit, but she could be good for Litchfield. Even he could see that. She was a good person. He could see that too.

She didn't deserve a fucking knife in the face.

Fuck.

Part of him wanted to go and find out exactly what had happened, how she was. Make sure someone was taking care of her. She was new, still finding her feet, probably scared. She might be glad of a friendly face. The other part of him scoffed at the idea that she'd want or need him hovering around. She didn't know him, not really, and she'd just been fucking _stabbed_ – what the fuck use did he think he was going to be?

So he was basically pacing the corridor outside the medical wing, unwilling to leave, but unable to talk himself into going in. Someone was going to wonder what the hell he was doing there …

"Oh my god, did you like see her face?"

Luschek glanced around, just in time to see those inseparable Spanish chicks hustling out of medical with an empty food cart. Presumably they'd been ordered to deliver food from the kitchen to those patients well enough to eat and, as usual, were now gossiping on the way back.

"I know, right?" the little one said, tutting to her herself sadly. "It's such a shame. She had such nice skin."

"That bone structure too," the taller one nodded. "Damn. Why do bitches gotta hate like that?"

"That's just how some girls roll. You've seen the comments on our YouTube channel. I know they're almost all about how awesome we are, but a couple of them … Like don't be hating on me because you jealous. It's not like _I_ made me this cute, you know?"

Rolling his eyes, Luschek barked out at them to make them stop in their tracks. "Yo, Tweedledum and Tweedledee, get over here. Yeah, you two-"

"We're totally supposed to be here, Mr Luschek," Flaca chipped in before he could get another word in. "You can't give us a shot. We had to bring trays for-"

"Yeah, I don't give a shit," he waved her off. "Were you just talking about Dal—I mean, Miss Ford?"

The pair exchanged a look that was a little too knowing for his liking, but he just continued to glare at them until Maritza huffed a sigh.

"Yeah, so? We weren't being mean. I feel super sorry for her. She's so pretty and now … Well, we couldn't see, except for the bandages, but it can't be good. We heard she got stabbed right in the face. That's so fucked up."

"Totally fucked up," Flaca nodded solemnly. "Uh, can we go now? The kitchen's not exactly running like clockwork without Gloria or even Red in charge, but we still get in hella trouble if dinner's late …"

"Whatever. Go," Luschek growled, already pushing past them to head into the medical wing before he changed his mind. Even though he felt totally unprepared to deal with what he might find. For crying out loud, if it was that bad, why the hell hadn't they gotten her out of Litchfield and into a proper hospital?

He didn't need to think too long to realise the answer probably lay in yet another sweeping under the carpet of the extent of what they were all up against. At this point, the dirt had to be piled pretty fucking high …

* * *

Tilting her head back against the pillows, Dallas closed her eyes again against the too-bright lights and winced as the stitches in her cheek pulled at her skin. The whole left side of her face felt tender and swollen, the pain eclipsing even the throbbing of the wrist she had apparently staved when she fell.

 _Just my fucking luck_ , she thought to herself, tears welling up as it started to sink in that her whole ordeal had been a bit more than just a bad day at the office. She'd been lucky that blade had only sliced into her cheek, when it could so easily have slit her throat open. Although, touching a tentative hand to the bandage taped over her wound, she could only imagine the extent of the damage that lay beneath …

"Uh, hey."

She glanced up at the voice from the doorway, surprised to see one of her new colleagues hovering there awkwardly. "Joel," she managed. "Hey."

"Sorry, I wasn't sure you'd want visitors. I mean, look at the lengths some people will go to just to get out of going for lunch …"

Dallas smiled at his little joke and immediately regretted it, sparking fresh concern in the blue eyes staring at her and trying not to. "Ow, okay, no making me laugh."

"Sorry," he apologised again. "Fuck. Are you okay? Stupid question - of course you're not. But like, can I get someone or something? Why are you even still here? Shouldn't you be in a proper hospital?"

"I'm okay," Dallas said. "Mostly. It probably looks worse than it is."

"You got stabbed in the fucking face!"

"Less stabbed, more slashed …"

"Oh, that's _much_ less serious," he declared, his tone laced with sarcasm. "Jesus. This place is getting worse. Are you sure I can't do anything?"

"Actually, there is something … I hate to ask, but would you mind going out to my car and getting my gym bag from the trunk?" she asked, seeing confusion etch itself across his face. "I can't go back to work covered in blood, but I think I've got sweat pants and a t-shirt in my bag."

"You can't go back to work today!" Luschek exclaimed. "You need to go home, recover …"

"And give Fig the satisfaction? No chance. Besides, what am I going to do at home?"

"Uh, kick back, watch TV, take a nap – try to forget about the crazy bitch who cut you open?"

"Yeah, I really don't want to think about that, so I'd rather just get back to work," Dallas said quietly, glancing down at her blood-stained shirt before looking back up at him. "Please, Joel."

He considered for a moment and then hung his head with a defeated sigh, hoping to God that she had no idea she could probably turn those hazy green eyes on him, ask him anything and make him cave in a second. "Fine. If you're sure and if the doc here says it's okay. You got your car keys?"

Dallas nodded, but he could tell there was something else on her mind, something she seemed to be psyching herself up for.

"What?" he prompted. "Hey, you don't have to do this, you know. Fig's a soulless automaton, but she ain't gonna want you working injured. If for no other reason than she doesn't want to risk getting sued … You could just go home. I'll drive you – if you trust me with your car. Don't think you'd fancy taking my bike right now."

"I want to stay," Dallas said, although she didn't exactly sound certain. "I just … I want to see how bad it is. Do you know? Did anyone say anything?"

Luschek shook his head. "Nah, I just got here and there wasn't anyone around. Think the doc got called to another case. I guess I could go look for him and-"

"I'm scared to look," Dallas blurted out. "Is that really stupid? Like really vain and stupid? You can say."

He shook his head again. "Nah, I get it. You just don't want the reminder, especially if you might have to see it all the time. My sister, she fell in a scalding bath as a kid. Burned her legs. She wouldn't wear shorts for years."

The counsellor leaned back against the pillows again, heaving a sigh. "My first full day here. I can't believe this is happening. I think I might be fucking cursed."

"You, nah. This place? Maybe," Luschek shrugged, wishing he could do more to help her feel better, although he was quickly alarmed when she sat up and reached for the tape holding the gauze in place over her cheek. "Whoa, careful, what are you doing?"

"I have to know," she insisted, but her hands were shaking and, worried she was only going to end up making things worse, he reached to stop her. "Will you look for me? Please, Joel, just tell me how bad it is and then … At least I'll know. Because, right now, I'm imagining all sorts."

There it was again. _Please, Joel._ And those big green eyes. Fuck, she was gonna end up getting him in all kinds of trouble. Although, when he'd realised he wanted to spend time getting to know her, he hadn't factored in that time being spent in the goddamn medical wing.

He'd still take what he could get though.

"Be honest with me," she told him, before closing her eyes and leaving him trying his best not to fumble as he started to ease back the tape holding the gauze in place. "I mean it."

Luschek didn't think his fingers had ever seemed so big and clumsy. "Sorry, sorry," he said hastily, when the tape pulled at Dallas' skin and made her flinch. "Nearly done … There. That's … That's not so bad."

"Joel …" she sighed, a warning tone clear in her quiet voice and making him all too aware there would be no bullshitting her on this one.

He took a deep breath, trying not to ramble and failing despite that. "Okay. Okay, it's not great. She sliced you good and, yeah, it could maybe scar. But the stitches are super neat. Clearly done by someone with a much steadier hand than me, that's for sure. Hey, it's kinda badass. You're still hot. And I actually just said that, didn't I?"

Dallas, an eyebrow raised in surprise, couldn't help the little lopsided smile that quirked the corner of her mouth at that. "You think I'm hot?"

"I have literally _no_ idea what the right answer is here," Luschek said finally, obviously uncomfortable and kicking himself for having overplayed his hand. "Uh, I'm gonna go get your bag. Um … yeah."

"Hey, Joel?" she called, stopping him in his tracks as he headed for the door, inwardly kicking himself every step of the way. "You want the keys or you just gonna take a rock to the window?"

Fuck.

He mentally kicked himself some more as he shuffled back to take the proffered car keys, and then kept it up for good measure as he retraced his steps back to the door. He barely knew the chick. He really needed to get back to his usual _no-fucks-to-give_ self.

"Hey, Joel?"

Fuck. What dumbass thing had he done this time?

"Thank you," Dallas said softly.

Oh.

Holy fuck, he was so screwed.

* * *

 **To be continued ...**


	12. Bleeding Hearts

**12\. Bleeding Hearts**

Taking in the gum-cracking inmate lounging casually on the chair opposite her, the counsellor tried to stay cool under that shrewd, almost insolent stare. The cheeky little glint in the eyes that never strayed from her seemed almost suggestive, unsettlingly so. At least until the chair tilted back precariously on two legs and she was shot a slightly less predatory grin than before.

"Hey, Miss Ford, I will say this – chicks dig scars."

"Well, I guess it's good to know I might have options," Dallas replied, trying to call her bluff.

But that only widened the smile opposite as Nicky Nichols leaned forward eagerly in her seat. "Yeah? You thought about batting for my team, doc?"

"I'm not a doctor, Nicky. I'm just here to-"

"Inspire fantasies and dodge my questions."

"These sessions aren't supposed to be about me."

"No? Aren't you supposed to, like, _build a bond_ with your patient?"

Dallas sighed to herself. Everything that came out of the wild-haired inmate's mouth managed to sound dirty. It was almost impressive. She didn't bother telling her that though. It would probably only encourage her.

Of course, it didn't really help matters that she was sat there feeling pretty self-conscious already, in her gym sweats and with a bandage on her face. Not that she was too bothered about what she looked like. It was more the message it inadvertently sent out – confirming that, yes, she'd already gotten in an altercation with a prisoner and come off worst. She wasn't here to make some kind of point or to play at being a hard-ass, but she knew she'd never get anywhere with these women if they thought she was weak or an easy target.

"Yo, I ain't trying to get under your skin," Nicky backtracked, seeming to sense that she was pushing buttons and not in a way that was going to get her anywhere. "I just … I ain't got a lot of time for this bleeding heart bullshit, you know? Sorry."

Dallas processed that and relaxed a little into her seat. Okay, good old-fashioned scepticism. That she could work with. "You don't think it's good to … just get stuff off your chest? Vent a little? That's really all this is, Nicky – a chance to talk over anything that might be on your mind, with someone who can hopefully help you process it in a way that's less self-destructive than letting it build up inside. Or than some other outlets you might find."

"You think I could just talk myself out of heroin addiction? Gee, I wish I'd thought of that sooner," Nicky drawled, a smile on her lips even as her voice dripped with cynicism.

"That's not what I'm saying. But could it help? Yes, I think so."

"Hey, why am I even on your radar, Miss Ford?" came the sudden suspicious question. "I heard on the grapevine your services here are pretty limited. How'd I get lucky in the loony lottery? I ain't saying I exactly got my shit perfectly together, but even I know I ain't the worst off in this joint.

"Does it really matter?"

"If this was my interfering mother and her money, then yeah, it fucking matters."

"Well, it wasn't. There hasn't been any outside input, even from inmates' families. All the assessments were made based on your records, any concerns officers may have …"

"Is Lorna Morello on your list?"

"I can't discuss other people with you, Nicky. I'm sure you understand that. Just like nothing you say will leave this room, unless I feel there's a risk to you or someone else."

"I don't give a rat's ass about that. Tell whoever you like. But you gotta have Lorna on your list. Take me off if you ain't got enough time."

Eying the other woman for a long moment, trying to work out the best way to get her to open up, Dallas jotted down the name she was being given and drew a question mark beside it. "Why, if you don't feel confident about these sessions having any value, is it so important to you that this Lorna comes to see me?"

Nicky seemed to chew that over for a moment, obviously caught and struggling for the right thing to say. "Lorna likes to talk," she finally shrugged. "And she's got a lotta shit going on in that pretty little head. Might help her … sift through it."

"But not you?"

"Listen, I'm pretty self-aware. I may not have all my vices completely under control, but I know what they are and where they come from," Nicky said. "So, in the grand scheme of things, I think that shuffles me down the list in terms of urgency when it comes to some kind of intervention. Right now, there's nothing to intervene on. Scout's honour."

"So you're saying you're clean right now, but is that you acknowledging you might find it difficult to stay that way?" Dallas pushed gently.

"No flies on you, doc."

"I'm not a-"

"Yeah, yeah. What can I say? The thought of you with a white coat and a stethoscope appeals to me."

Inappropriate or not, Dallas could only look at the inmate opposite, as she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, and laugh. "You're persistent," she sighed. "I'll give you that."

"Let me know when it starts working," Nicky grinned, settling back in her chair. "Now, where were we?"

* * *

By the end of the day, Dallas had been shamelessly and almost relentlessly hit on by Nicky, sworn at vehemently by Maria Ruiz while trying to talk about how she was coping with being parted from her baby daughter, and given the silent treatment by Brook Soso.

The latter had proven by far the most troubling, with the petite young woman's unspoken grief weighing heavily on her shoulders, seeming to fill the whole room. Dallas had tried over and over again to get her to open up, but nothing had gotten through her defences. She just sat there, looking blank. Numb. Word was she had remained like that almost the entire time between being lifted and carried bodily out of Litchfield and being returned once the dust had settled, so to speak.

The counsellor couldn't really say she was surprised, all things considered, but she was worried.

But after a day of battling the system, dealing with Fig's scathing response to finding out it had taken a matter of hours for her newest employee to apparently cause more trouble than the warden felt she was worth, Dallas was too emotionally drained herself to be much use to anyone else.

Plus the painkillers were wearing off to leave her cheek and wrist throbbing again, and she couldn't resist taking a moment to just sprawl out on her own couch, too tired to summon even the strength to go home.

Only a knock at the office door made her crack an eye, praying it wasn't Fig checking up on her again.

"Hey. Saw your car still in the lot. Most of the day shift already scarpered, so I figured someone should check you were okay," Luschek said, leaning a shoulder against the door frame. "You … okay?"

"I've had better days," Dallas confessed. "Jesus, is it always this tough around here?"

"Here? The place that's hired you because it's already traumatised so many people? Nah, piece of piss," he shrugged, making her half laugh, half groan and tilt her head back against the cushions wearily. "Offer still stands, you know. I can drive you home. I mean, if you want."

She didn't want to put him to any trouble, but she couldn't deny it was a tempting offer - although she was distracted from quickly mulling it over by the beep of her cell phone, giving him the universal _one minute_ signal as she reached for it to read the incoming text message.

 _Coming round after work. We NEED to talk. R x_

God, that was all she needed. Although part of her was surprised to get any prior warning at all. She just couldn't face the thought of another confrontation though. Not today.

"Hey, Joel?" Dallas said suddenly, deleting the message. "That offer of a drink still open?"

He looked thrown by that, like it was the last thing he was expecting her to ask, but he tried to shake it off. "Uh, yeah, I guess. You sure that's a good idea though?"

"After the day I've had, trust me, it's a great idea. Although I'm guessing somewhere with a pretty relaxed dress code might be best, 'cause this is the only outfit I've got right now that's not covered in bloodstains …"

"Well, in that case …" Luschek grinned.

* * *

"Hey, I'm just saying, I can see why Luschek's got a hard-on for the broad," Nicky chuckled, filling Lorna in on her first counselling session as she sat on her bunk with her back against the wall and the brunette's head in her lap, her fingers trailing absently through those silky dark curls.

"Because he's scared of her?" Lorna said wryly, recalling their experiences of seeing more of the guard than they'd bargained for during the riot.

"Yeah, right – scared she's out of his league maybe," Nicky scoffed. "Which she obviously is. But seriously though, it … y'know, it wasn't awful. Ford knows her shit."

With a little frown on her face, Lorna shifted to look up at her curiously. "It took me and Red months to convince you to even give AA a chance."

"So?"

"So now you're all on board with counselling? Sounds like Officer Luschek isn't the only one with a hard-on, if you ask me."

"I'm just saying, don't knock it until you've tried it. And maybe you should. Y'know, try it."

Lorna sat up at that, her brows knitted in a way that Nicky had come to learn meant nothing good. "You think I need counselling?"

"You think anyone in this shithole doesn't?" Nicky shot back, trying to keep it light. "Look around, Lorn – we ain't none of us exactly an advert for people with their shit together."

"You think I need counselling?" Lorna repeated, as if she hadn't even heard her. "Why? Because I'm so crazy? That's it, isn't it? _Lorna Loco_ , just like the rest of those bitches say. I thought you understood, Nicky."

"Whoa, wait a minute. Lorna, fucking slow down here. Look, you're making this into some big deal when it ain't, kid ..."

But the little Italian, who could be plenty fiery when she wanted, was already off the bed and pacing the floor of the cramped cube. "You keep telling me I can do this. That I'm strong and blah blah blah. But all the time, you think it too – you think I'm crazy! That I need help. Oh, there's Lorna and her whole mess of crazy and now she's having a baby … Better fix her. Is that what you think, huh? That I need to be fixed?"

"Because the overreacting is totally in control behaviour …" Nicky muttered below her breath, quickly regretting it when those big brown eyes filled with tears. "Aw, shit. Lorna …"

"No, don't you _Lorna_ me. Just … Just leave me alone!" she cried, storming off and leaving Nicky wiping her hands over her face wearily.

So much for helping.

* * *

"Uh, are you sure we should be going this way? I only ask because getting stabbed in the face once in the day seems plenty …"

"Trust me," Luschek said, leading the way down another secluded alleyway as Dallas stuck close, still in her sweatpants and a hoodie and with her strapped wrist cradled against her chest. "This place might be a bit … rough and ready, but it'll surprise you. Best buffalo wings in the state too."

"If you say so," the counsellor said, not sounding overly convinced.

But, letting him finally lead her down a set of steps, past a bouncer who simply nodded at them in gruff greeting, and through a heavy wooden door, she couldn't help smiling at the sight in front of her.

The little bar was a dive, but cosy with it, lit by the warm glow of dozens of tiny mismatching lamps. There were a few snug booths down one side, but most of the patrons were either perched on stools along the bar, huddled around the couple of pool tables, or packed onto what passed for a filthy dancefloor in front of a long-haired band in denim and leather belting out covers of classic rock songs.

"Okay, how did I not know this place was here?" Dallas demanded, looking like she was trying to take everything in at once.

"So you're cool with sticking around?" Luschek asked, glad she seemed to like it. "You're not vegetarian or some shit, are you? 'Cause in this place, you'll probably starve to death …"

"Are you kidding? Right now, I could kill someone with a pool cue just for a burger."

"It shouldn't come to that, but good to know," he grinned back, already more convinced than ever that she might just be the perfect woman.

If only that didn't seem like such a sure-fire pathway to disappointment ...

* * *

 **To be continued ...**


	13. Judge As A Sober

**A/N: Hey, apologies this part took so long - real life got in the way for a little bit there, especially with the holidays and everything.**

 **I also realised I was trying to shoehorn in some more of the inmates, when I really needing to be moving a different part of the story along right now, so more Litchfield regulars - including some who have yet to make an appearance - will be featuring, but hopefully you won't mind finding out a little more about the new counsellor along the way. She's a dark horse, that one ... ;)**

 **Thanks to everyone reading, and especially to those leaving feedback - I love hearing from you!**

* * *

 **13\. Judge As A Sober**

"You're nice. You think you're not, but you are. Thanks for being nice to me …"

Luschek looked over at his newest co-worker bemused. Despite her recent trauma and subsequent injuries, they'd actually managed – by his reckoning at least, and he hoped she wouldn't contradict him – to have a decent time, just shooting the shit in the bar over burgers and a few beers. Low-key. Nothing to get carried away over. Definitely not a date. No, sir. Although more's the pity, he had to admit, to himself if no one else.

"Okay, were you sneaking shots behind my back? How are you this hammered?"

"Am not!" Dallas protested, tripping over the edge of the pavement in the dark and grabbing his arm to steady herself with a giggle that was as good as an admission, despite her protest.

"Sure," he drawled wryly. "Judge as a sober."

"'Sactly," she nodded, making him laugh.

"Okay, Little Miss Lightweight, home time …" Luschek said, a little caught off-guard – although definitely not objecting - when she wrapped both arms around one of his and snuggled up to him. Even in sweatpants and with a bandage on her face, she'd still had no trouble drawing admiring glances and he knew he'd definitely had some disgruntled looks thrown his way as a by-product of the assumptions made. Not that Dallas seemed to notice any of it.

"Jooooel … I might have maybe … done a bad thing," she said, her words slurring just a little as she shot him a guilty look.

"Oh yeah? Sounds promising," he grinned.

"I kinda maybe … took more painkillers … with my beers …"

Ah. Now it was all falling into place. And for all his faults, of which there were many, no way was he pulling a dick move like taking advantage of that. Not with her.

"Jesus …" he sighed, realising that, for once in his life, he was pretty much going to have to play the responsible adult – and to a very cute, very wasted, and surprisingly touchy-feely drunk, no less. An experience he was already starting to see had all the potential to prove torturous. "Okay, it's definitely home time."

* * *

Fingers drummed impatiently on the steering wheel and narrowed eyes checked the dashboard clock against a Rolex watch. Again.

Nearly midnight. On a fucking Monday.

That she'd stood him up, that much was crystal clear, but staying away until all hours … That was just childish. But, Christ, if he wasn't tempted to let her play that game. To be right there on the doorstep whatever time she finally got home. Because she had to come home sometime … _Right?_

She had a new job, he knew that much. What else might be new in her life?

The insidious little thought that she might not return home after all, that she might spend the night in someone else's bed, threatened to take hold and his hands tightened on the wheel. No. That wouldn't … She couldn't … No, just … _no_.

"Where the fuck _are_ you, Dallas?" he seethed to himself, raking a hand through slicked back dark hair and forcing himself to swallow a growl of pent-up frustration.

If he wasn't careful, someone was going to call the cops. A strange car parked up outside the nice little house in a quiet area … The neighbours probably hadn't reported him already solely because the Lexus screamed class over potential house breaker. He'd already driven away and returned twice though …

The clock was ticking.

And, with every second that passed, the more likely it seemed that his worst fear might be true. His fiancée was making good on her threat – and moving on without him.

* * *

Not for the first time, in her many years at Litchfield, Red cast her eyes to the ceiling and heaved a sigh. This time, she really did feel too old for this shit. Pacing the halls in the dark in her nightshirt and flipflops, her makeshift headscarf knotted sloppily over her still patchy hair, dodging the not-so watchful eye of the guards.

At least she found the missing Morello exactly where and as she expected – huddled up in the corner of a store cupboard, on a pile of old blankets that smelled vaguely of mildew and something less easily defined. Her knees were drawn up to her chest in a way that certainly wasn't going to be possible a few months down the line, her arms wrapped around them, and her eyes were swollen from crying.

"Lorna … Is it just possible you might be overreacting?" she half-scolded, half-sympathised.

The Russian matriarch may have been feeling her years, but she could well remember the emotional turmoil that came with carrying a child. And she had been fortunate enough that those particular experiences had not coincided with her long-standing, but more recent – relatively speaking - experiences of incarceration.

"I … I don't know!" Lorna sniffled, seeming to lack the energy for further histrionics, even if pride or stubbornness wouldn't quite let her back down. "Maybe. Does it even really matter? She's supposed to be on my side. _My side!_ "

"And wanting the best for you, that is not being on your side?" Red demanded, arms folded across her chest. "Did it not occur to you that Nicky herself is talking to this woman? Do you think badly of her for it?"

But Lorna wasn't going to be won over as easily as that, pooh-poohing the very notion that Nicky could be taking her counselling seriously. "Nicky's not interested in letting that broad in her head – just between her legs," she sneered, through her tears.

"Oh, come on, Lorna. Surely you can see through her little fronts by now. I'm not going to deny Nicky has an eye for a pretty face, but do you really think she would care whether you gave this Ford a chance or not if that was all she was interested in? Maybe, just maybe, she was telling you the truth. Maybe she realised this woman is actually capable of doing some good around here. She wants to help you. Is that so wrong?"

"I don't need fixing!"

Red levelled a knowing look at the younger woman. "She said as she sits crying in a closet …"

"What if … What if I talk to her and she tells everyone I'm crazy too. Then when they … When they take my b-baby away … Oh god, Red, they'll never let me get her back!"

It would take a colder heart than even Red's not to break at the young mother-to-be's scared little sobs and she closed her eyes for a moment, realising there might be a lot of truth in Lorna's words, no matter what. It was hard enough to be away from her boys, knowing they were grown men. She couldn't imagine having them raised by another as mere babies.

"Lorna, listen to me," she tried finally. "None of us can tell you the future, not for certain. But it seems to me that refusing help when it is offered, that cannot help your case. Accepting it … At least that gives you a fighting chance – and for your child, you _fight_. Even when all hope seems lost, you _fight_."

* * *

Oblivious to the steely gaze from across the shadowy deserted street, Luschek couldn't help laughing as Dallas stumbled out of the cab and, thankfully managing to avoid face-planting in the gutter, into his arms.

"You're gonna have your hands full with that one, buddy," the cab driver grinned from his open window, drinking in another eyeful before pulling away with a little salute. "Enjoy!"

"Whoops!" Dallas giggled, pushing a stray lock of her ponytail out of her eyes as she tried to steady herself. "That was fun. You're fun, Joel. Did I tell y'that already?"

"Several times," he said wryly, trying to guide her out of the middle of the road – not that there was too much danger of getting run over after midnight in the quiet neighbourhood where she was currently the loudest thing in sight. He doubted she'd want the neighbours witnessing her coming home off her face though. He could imagine a pretty young professional being welcomed with open arms. A drunken party girl, not so much.

"It's still early, reeeeal early," Dallas managed, her words still slurring more than a little. "Where we goin' next, huh, Joel?"

"Bed," he said firmly, aiming for his sternest correctional officer glare - only to realise exactly how that might sound as her face shifted from exaggerated pseudo-shock to impish glee.

"But I'm not sleepy …"

Christ, she might be a mess, but she was definitely a hot mess and, at this rate, she was almost certainly gonna be the death of him.

* * *

Those fingers were now gripping the steering wheel so tight the knuckles had turned white, much like the white-hot anger that felt like it was going to simply burn him up from the outside in.

He slammed a palm against the dark leather, choking back what could have been a howl of frustration if only he'd let it out instead of trying to wrestle his emotions back down like some kind of wild beast.

Weeks they'd been apart. Fucking _weeks_.

Okay, maybe months, maybe. But only just. And yet there she was, throwing herself at some deadbeat loser right under his nose. Clearly drunk, giggling at nothing like some fucking airhead. After all her tears and her bullshit broken-heart guilt trips, the way she'd made him cow down and feel like shit, _she_ was the one fucking around with someone else like _he_ didn't even exist!

No wonder she kept throwing his attempts to apologise back in his face, he realised through the fog of his growing fury. All this time, making him out to be the bad guy, and how long had it taken her to drop her panties for the first guy who looked her way?

It was all he could do not to throw open the car door, storm over there and knock that scruffy bastard's teeth down his fucking throat. Then they'd see what Little Miss Perfect had to say for herself. Oh yes, they would …

If she thought he was giving up without a fight, she had another think coming.

* * *

His spidey-sense tingling, Luschek had paused on the porch step, not quite able to shake the feeling of eyes on his back and yet assuming it was just paranoia at the thought of disturbing the most likely well-to-do neighbours. Then he'd had to take the keys from Dallas to get them in the lock, or they'd still have been stood there come morning, and his attention had fully returned to his charge.

He couldn't just leave her to fend for herself, or that's what he was trying to tell himself anyway. What if she'd fallen down the stairs and broken her damn neck on top of everything else?

But having coaxed her into leaving the stereo off, not trying to make popcorn, and not going out into her tiny backyard, he'd finally helped her to her room and was just trying to figure out his next move as she sang to herself. At least she seemed to be a largely happy drunk. He'd had a roommate once who insisted on watching The Crow on a loop and quoting half the script in between bouts of crying, so there was that …

Before Luschek had time to realise what was happening, Dallas kicked off her sneakers, peeled her hoodie and t-shirt over her head and shimmied out of her sweatpants, looking like she was dancing to music only she could hear and leaving him trying not to stare at the sight of infinitely more lightly tanned skin than he'd banked on seeing.

"Uh …"

Fuck, it was a damn fine view, but this could not end well if he didn't – god help him – shut this down.

"Right," he said briskly, trying to ignore the reality of her in nothing but tiny scraps of lace as he whipped a blanket off her bed and wrapped her up in it before she could get any _comfier_. "Sleepy time for you."

"Jooooel," she giggled in protest. "I'm not cold, silly!"

"Oh, sure you are. You just stay all snug as a bug, atta girl …"

"Are you gonna stay with me?" she asked coyly, pouting when he shook his head hard.

"No! Nooooo … You're gonna stay right here and I'm gonna … go …" he said, hoping he sounded more insistent than he felt and idly wondering firstly if she might have any iced water in her fridge, and secondly, if throwing it over his head would do any good.

"Thank you for looking after me," Dallas murmured, dragging him into a hug even as she plopped herself down on the bed. Then, just when he thought she was going to literally fall asleep on him, like they were in some bad comedy movie, she leaned in and kissed him.

Christ, he was trying so hard not to be a dog, but … Well, he wasn't fucking dead.

He couldn't resist kissing her back, as soft lips parted willingly under his and her tongue tangled with his - before he forced himself to pull away and her face fell again.

"Don't you want to?" she asked, touching a hand to her injured cheek without even seeming to realise she was doing it, the confidence suddenly stripped away. "Don't you like me?"

"Dallas," Luschek sighed, as she curled up on the bed in her cocoon of blankets and he sat on its edge, deciding he might as well take the plunge, especially as there was a pretty good chance she might not even remember it by morning. "You're gorgeous, you're fun – shit, you're half naked under there – and this is taking more fucking self-restraint than I ever thought I had! But, even if there's a pretty good chance this'll never happen again, I don't want it to happen now just because you're off your tits on pain meds. And I definitely don't want you to wake up regretting it. Because of course I like you. I _really_ like you. So you should get some rest, 'cause tomorrow's probably gonna be pretty rough. Dallas?"

She was already asleep.

He never thought he'd say it, but thank fuck for that.

* * *

 **To be continued ...**


	14. Wake-Up Call

**A/N: A bit of a swifter update than usual to make up for the wait for the last part lol - as always, thanks for reading and I'd would love to know what you think!**

* * *

 **14\. Wake-Up Call**

It was still early when the sleek car pulled up in the parking lot in a shower of gravel and the passenger door opened to allow first one electric blue platform mule and then the other to step out in an attempt at elegance – one that was somewhat marred by the none-too-subtle tugging at the hem of a deep orange mini-skirt that had ridden obscenely high on long tan thighs.

" _¡Date prisa!_ " came the shout from the driver's seat."I gotta get this baby back before the boss finds out. He thinks I'm getting her valeted or some shit."

"All right, all right," came the equally impatient response. "Why they gotta have visitation so fucking early in this shithole, huh? I tell you something, when you stuck in those ugly-ass uniforms, looking like a sack of shit, last thing you need is someone staring at you across a table this early."

"¡Aleida, _dios mio!_ Hurry the fuck up!"

"Keep your fucking hair on, asshole!" the fiery Latina hollered back, turning on him in the heat of her anger, her attempts to straighten out her outfit temporarily forgotten. "You're paid to be the driver, just worry about fucking driving."

"Yeah, not by you, _mami_. I dunno why you gotta keep coming here anyway," came the disgruntled mumble, as he turned his attention to his own reflection in the rear-view mirror, adjusting the peak of the cap that came with his uniform over sulky dark eyes. "Ain't like she gonna suddenly agree to see you."

Aleida Diaz narrowed her eyes dangerously at that, but for once, she bit her tongue. Because she was going to do her talking in the visitation room of Litchfield Maximum Security Penitentiary. And one way or another, she was going to get through to her goddamn daughter.

"If you ain't back in time, I'm outta here. I mean it. I ain't copping for this," the driver warned, while she steeled herself for what lay ahead.

He was now leaning across the car to call out the front passenger window and she gave him the finger as she marched off with a toss of her long chestnut hair. As far as she was concerned, Mateo could spin his wheels all he liked. She'd already taken the chauffeur for a ride, so to speak, and if it turned out he'd since outlived his usefulness …

Oh well.

* * *

Slowly becoming aware of daylight falling across his face, in that way you sometimes could even though your eyes were still closed, Luschek shifted uncomfortably to try to turn away from it – only to realise that, firstly, he didn't have room to roll over and, secondly, the sun didn't normally hit his bedroom window like that …

He cracked an eyeball, realisation dawning on him and drawing a groan as he wiped a hand over his face.

Not his room, not his house.

Oh, nothing to get too excited by. In an admittedly most irregular show of thoughtfulness, he'd just worried about leaving his unlikely companion totally on her own. With his luck, he'd figured that it probably wouldn't take long for him to end up as a prime suspect if Dallas accidentally ODed or choked on her own vomit after last being seen in a bar with him. And letting that happen seemed like a sure-fire way to finally get booted by MCC. Although, and he realised he should probably have listed this first in his mental checklist, he also genuinely didn't want anything bad to happen to the girl – however, he supposed even that wasn't entirely for unselfish reasons, all things considered. Especially after that unexpected, brain-melting kiss.

If he was being really honest with himself, and he saw little point in efforts towards self-deception, he wasn't sure he could go too far in claiming to have played the good Samaritan. In the end, he'd checked on his little sleeping beauty a grand total of once, when he'd woken up in the early hours in serious need of a piss and then worried she'd wake up to find him peering at her and scream the place down. So he'd beat a hasty retreat back downstairs and ended up sleeping like the proverbial dead himself right until … well, now.

Luschek sat up on the couch that proved perfectly comfortable for its primary function and less so when forced to become a makeshift bed, recalling events that had led him to this point. It had actually happened, hadn't it? The kiss, that was. It wasn't just some kind of hyper-realistic dream, prompted by a serious case of wishful thinking ... And if it had, actually happened that was - and it seemed that was, however improbable, the case - why in the blue fuck had he put the brakes on?!

He chose to see himself as a realist, the kind of guy who asked what was in the glass rather than how empty or full it was. So, defeatist as it might sound, he had to consider the near-irrefutable fact that he had blown the kind of chance that was unlikely to ever come his way twice in effectively turning down a straight-up gorgeous blonde in nothing but her underwear … Her lacy, leave-little-to-the-imagination underwear …

"Morning, sunshine."

He might have jumped if he'd had the energy, but as it was, a flinch was the best his body could manage. Or maybe it was a guilty cringe at the thought of the woman in the doorway somehow reading where his mind was drifting. Again.

"Uh, hey. Sorry, hope you don't mind – although I guess it's kinda too late to be asking after the fact - I kinda crashed on your couch …"

"I kinda figured," Dallas smiled. "And it's fine. Just wish I'd been in a fit state to tell you I do have a spare room. Could have spared you the discomfort. Did you get any sleep?"

"I've definitely slept in worse places. But hey, you're the one who got wasted and I look worse than you do," Luschek mumbled, raking a hand through his sleep-tousled hair as he squinted up at her only to find her looking almost as bright and breezy as ever. "How's _that_ fair? Although, I guess we didn't exactly start on an equal footing …"

"I've usually got a pretty good tolerance for alcohol and I didn't really have that much – it just screwed with the meds," she shrugged. "Unless you're gonna tell me I did something super embarrassing that I'm blocking from my mind?"

"Nah, you're good," he said, after a pause, not meeting her gaze and feeling slightly unsure as to whether he should be disappointed or just consider himself off the hook for ever thinking there was even a tiny chance.

"I know I kissed you," Dallas said quietly, leaning a shoulder against the frame of the door. "Sorry. Feels like we should clear that up early."

"It's … It's okay," he said, taken aback to discover she did actually remember what had happened and trying to prepare himself for a swift attempt to backtrack. "We can pretend it never happened. I know you didn't know what you were doing."

"I did though," she interrupted.

"Uh, what?"

"I knew what I was doing. And I'm not sorry I kissed you, just that I put you in an awkward position. I know you didn't want to take advantage and that was sweet, so thank you. For everything - looking out for me, cheering me up."

"Hang on," Luschek sat up straighter, a confused frown on his face. "You meant to kiss me? Like, for real?"

Dallas turned on her heel, calling back over her shoulder. "I put fresh towels in the bathroom and there's a spare toothbrush I had in the back of a cupboard. Coffee'll be in the kitchen when you're done."

"But … I … We're picking this up right here when I get back," he tried to insist, only heading for the bathroom in the vague hope a shower might clear his fuzzy head and start to make sense of what the hell was going on.

It didn't. But, slightly rumpled shirt aside, at least he didn't totally resemble a tramp when he lumbered back down the stairs and into the kitchen, finding Dallas already perched on the edge of the table sipping her coffee. She didn't look rumpled. In fact, in just ripped blue jeans, a simple white t-shirt and next to no makeup, and with her long blonde waves pulled into a loose plait, he thought she still looked fucking incredible.

"I called the school and got a few days off," she said, in explanation to an unasked question about her casual attire. "Don't think they wanted to have to explain to the kids their counsellor got stabbed in the face any more than I did. So anyway … I wasn't acting or anything."

Luschek's brain still didn't seem to him to exactly be firing on all cylinders and it took a second to realise what she meant, as he took the mug of coffee pushed towards him before Dallas continued with whatever kind of explanation was coming.

"I … drank a little bit too much," she said, with a roll of her eyes that said she thought that much was probably obvious. "Definitely shouldn't have taken the painkillers on top. But it takes a lot to really make me lose control. I wanted to forget what happened at work and … maybe some other stuff … But I just wanted to have a laugh with you too. And then I wanted to kiss you. I didn't plan it, it just happened. You definitely don't need to feel guilty though. It wasn't just because I was drunk. Okay?"

"Okay," Luschek managed slowly.

She half-frowned, even as a tiny smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "You don't look convinced."

He didn't know what to say to that, shuffling his feet awkwardly as she set down her mug and sighed.

"Do I need to prove it?"

"Um, wha-"

Reaching to tug him closer, she cut him off with a kiss, one that started out insistent and melted into something softer and more relaxed. One that tasted mostly of coffee and faintly of mint, but also something sweeter on her lips and something that had to be just her. Fuck it, he hadn't a clue what was going on, but – improbable as it seemed - she was smiling against his mouth and sometimes you just had to go with it. With that in mind, he cupped her uninjured cheek with his hand and kissed her back, feeling her arms settle comfortably around his shoulders as she made space for him to stand between her knees.

Shit, this kind of wake-up was almost enough to convert him into a morning person …

* * *

Huffing a stray lock of hair out of her eyes and drumming her manicured nails on the table top, Aleida scowled across the partition at no one. Even after weeks of this, she wasn't used to not getting her own way and it still didn't sit well with her.

"Why the fuck do I even bother, huh?" she muttered, preparing to gather her things and leave, even as a door opened and she looked up to find herself staring at a familiar face. One with hostility written over all it. Fair enough, she supposed, given the harsh words that had passed between them. Not that she'd ever admit that out loud. "You took your fucking time."

The inmate's glare darkened, suggesting she must have been able to lip read, but she moved to sit down anyway and even reached for the telephone that would allow them to communicate.

"Why are you here?"

"Why am I … Whadda ya mean why am I here? I'm a _mother!_ " Aleida snapped.

"Does your daughter know that?"

The barb stung more than she would allow to show, but her grip on the receiver tightened until her knuckles turned white. "Gloria," she tried, between nearly gritted teeth. "I need you to get her to talk to me."

"She ain't your little Dayanara anymore – jumping when her mama snaps her fingers ..."

"Ha, that girl weren't ever that!"

"I'm telling you, Aleida, she's playing a dangerous game. I know this place … It changes you. Gotta do what it takes to stay afloat. But Daya … she's running with a bad crowd."

"She's in _prison_. Ain't none of you bitches girl scouts," came the scoff, before the inwardly worried mother relented. "Okay, okay, I hear you. Now, what the fuck we gonna do about it?"

* * *

"See?" Dallas whispered, leaning her forehead lightly against Luschek's as they finally pulled apart just enough to catch their breath. "Sober. Totally wanted to."

"Okay," he managed, with a little nod, his voice sounding huskier than usual to his own ears. "Although, if you wanna convince me some more …"

"Joel, wait," Dallas said softly, scratching the fingers of one hand lightly through his beard, smiling ruefully when he tilted his head to press a little kiss into her palm. "Here comes the _but_ …"

Slowly, but surely, his face fell. He tried to cover it. Lord knew he'd had plenty of practice. "Aaaand normal service is about to be resumed."

"It's not what you think-"

"But I bet it ends the same way," he smiled wryly, nothing but easy-going resignation in his tone. How could there be? He wasn't surprised and he couldn't blame her. "I, uh, I should probably get out of your hair. Work. Duty calls, y'know."

"I do know," she said, grabbing his arm to stop him leaving. "And that's exactly it – _work_. Joel, I like you, I really do. But we have to work together and I'm pretty much on probation and-"

"That's it?" he tried, hope springing eternal. "Listen, if it wasn't for the fact I'd pretty much end up on the street in a week, I'd do the gentlemanly thing and offer to quit – but, as things stand, how about for now I just don't grab your ass in front of Fig?"

He was only half joking.

"Come on," Dallas sighed. "You know she's been dying for an excuse to get rid of me from the second I got there. Unprofessional conduct? You wouldn't be grabbing my ass at all, 'cause she'd have it nailed to the wall."

"So that's it? Just like that?"

"Don't do that. Don't give me the kicked puppy look."

"This is literally just my face," he shrugged innocently. "But, just out of curiosity, is it working at all?"

"More than you know," she laughed ruefully, taking in the sight of him as he stood there in front of where she was still perched on the table, his hands now resting lightly on her knees and his head hanging in defeat. "Hey," she tried, ducking to catch his gaze. "Who knows? Maybe you'd get to know me and realise I'd drive you up the walls. Maybe you'll look back and think, _wow_ , lucky escape."

He regarded her wryly. "Even the fact you're kind enough to say that with a straight face suggests otherwise, Miss Ford. It's okay though, honest - you're not exactly the first woman to knock me back. But hey, you do get to be the first to be totally out of my league _and_ not even realise it."

"Don't say that," Dallas said softly, reaching out to toy with a button of his shirt. "I'm sorry. Really I am. But look on the bright side, if Fig has her way, I'm probably only going to get to stay six weeks at Litchfield anyway. Maybe you could … help me drown my sorrows when they end up giving me the boot? Like … on a date?"

"Yeah?" Luschek asked, disbelief not quite allowing the little grin threatening to fully take hold. "For real?"

"For real," she shrugged, smiling a little at his reaction. "Why not? We could just … see what happens. After all, we wouldn't be co-workers anymore."

He considered that for a moment. "Am I a total jackass if I mentally celebrate the prospect of you losing a job you obviously care about?"

She pretended to consider, her head tilted on one side. "Mmm, little bit," she teased. "But I'll let it slide, under the circumstances."

"Hot and understanding," Luschek grinned, laughing when she swatted his arm at that. "Okay, ow …"

He was just contemplating whether it would be totally pushing his luck to try to steal another kiss to tide him over, when the moment was broken by the sound of hammering on the front door.

"And here was me thinking it was only my neighbourhood where people try to kick your door in," he joked, eyebrows raised in surprise. "You expecting trouble, Ford?"

"Oh, yeah, sure," she said, playing along. "That's me, trouble magnet …"

But even as she made light of it, the shouting started. And a look that seemed like realisation crossed her face.

"Dallas? You okay? Here, I'll go tell whoever it is to dial it down a notch …"

"Joel, hang on a min-"

But he'd already gone to answer the door, leaving her trailing in his wake.

"Hey, buddy, d'ya wanna maybe keep it down? No need to beat a hole in the-"

"I'm not having a conversation with you, whoever the hell you are," came the tight, but obnoxiously loud response. "I want to see my fiancée. _Now!_ "

Luschek's eyebrows shot back up as he took in the sight of the suited and booted, clearly furious visitor. "Uh, listen, I think you got the wrong place …" he said, half-turning to share a bemused smirk with Dallas. Only to clock her reaction and realise he might be the one who'd got it all wrong. "Oh."

* * *

 **To be continued ...**


	15. Prior Engagement

**Author's Note: I'm so sorry to have left this hanging for so long – while real life got in the way, I also have to admit that I hit a bit of a road block.**

 **Much as I love my OC Dallas, I wanted to make sure I kept the balance between her story and the threads with the actual inmates I realise you know and love. That got difficult to juggle, which was annoying because I do know where this is all headed and just needed to get round this hurdle. Hopefully you won't mind some Dallas-centric moments, as there will be more ahead with lots of familiar faces.**

 **Thanks so much for reading and, as always, I'd love to know hear your thoughts. T x**

* * *

 **15\. Prior Engagement**

"So … you're engaged. Um, call me old-fashioned, but shouldn't that probably be a bigger barrier to future relationships than company policy on co-workers dating?"

"I'm not engaged," Dallas sighed, rolling her eyes at the protest from the doorway.

"She damn well is," the unexpected visitor declared, shouldering his way past Luschek to confront her. "But seriously, you blow me off to spend the night with _this guy?_ Really? This is your idea of payback? And what the hell happened to your _face?_ "

The sneering only made Dallas grit her teeth in frustration. And over a host of issues that hit her all at once – from the arrogance of his misplaced possessiveness and his simultaneous dismissiveness towards her friend, to the automatic assumption about her sex life and the total failure to see that wasn't his business. Not anymore.

Because, okay, yeah, she was Ryan North's fiancée. _Was_ being the key word.

"I can't _blow you off_ when I didn't agree to see you, Ryan," she bit out, glaring at the dark-haired man she had effectively and unwittingly ended up wasting three years of her life on. "And it's none of your damn business what I do, or who I spend time with. Why are you even here? I've got nothing left to say to you."

"Nothing to say? We're getting married in five months! But really, your face-"

"The hell we are!" she exclaimed, beyond frustrated that the message didn't seem to be getting through. "Are you serious right now? When are you going to realise-"

Having hovered uncomfortably in the hallway, Luschek cleared his throat to get her attention and then jerked his head towards the door. "I, uh, should probably go …"

"You don't have to-" Dallas started, reaching out to touch a hand to his arm. She was suddenly feeling bad for having let him get caught up in the middle of this, realising it was a pretty awkward position to be put in. But she also couldn't help resenting that her ex's presence was now dictating her friend's actions - only for the culprit himself to dare to cut across her.

"Yeah, buddy, I'd make tracks if I was you," Ryan advised. "I'm guessing she didn't get around to telling you about me, but then bringing up the man you're going to marry is probably a bit of a mood killer."

"Would you _stop_ saying that?! I am _not_ marrying you!" she raged, rounding on him furiously. "But by all means, let me introduce you. Joel, this is Ryan North. Ryan is, uh, let's see … thirty-seven going on seventeen, originally from Washington DC, a lawyer… Oh, and he can't seem to help sleeping with his clients …"

"Jesus Christ, that was _one_ mistake!"

"Forgetting date night's a _mistake_. Losing your wallet's a _mistake_. Tripped and fell on your dick, did she?"

"I already told you, it wasn't how it looked," he hissed, clearly uncomfortable with having this out, especially in front of an audience.

"Oh really? Because it looked a lot like you nailing that bitch _in our bed!_ " Dallas shouted, catching the way Luschek's jaw dropped, even as her voice cracked and she was horrified to find herself on the verge of tears.

Anger she could handle. Tears were another story.

"Wait, you were engaged to _her_ and you seriously still screwed around?" Luschek couldn't seem to help checking, disbelief that almost bordered on bemusement written all over his face. "Duuude, unless you were banging Megan Fox, what the fuck were you thinking?"

Ryan glared at him. "Okay, could you get the hell out and let us talk?"

"Excuse me, don't order _my_ friend out of _my_ house!" Dallas interrupted, incredulous at his sheer arrogance.

"Dallas, for god's sake," he tried, raking a hand through his slicked back dark hair before reaching into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and producing an unmistakable little blue box. "Come on, you know I'm sorry," he urged, opening it to reveal the impressive diamond ring inside. "Just take this back and we can-"

"No."

"We can work this out, sweetheart – I know we can …"

" _No._ "

He pinched the bridge of his nose, his jaw clenched tight with tension. "No. Just like that? No. You're not even giving me a chance."

"See, here's the thing - that's what no means. No. Not _convince me_ ," she said. "But you're hardly the first man not to know the difference. Get out, Ryan. Go back to Veronica."

"Vanessa," he corrected dully.

"Like I give a shit."

* * *

"Hey."

Silence. Nothing but a dark, sulky look. Nothing new, but it still rankled. It always did. At first, she'd tried to persist and then her own stubborn streak had kicked in. She wasn't going to be treated like the shit on someone's shoe and keep going back for more. So she'd kept her distance. Kept her head down and her nose out of trouble. So much for that.

"Hey, I'm talking to you."

That sulky look again, arms folding across the chest. Classic defence mechanism. "Ain't no one asking you to."

Gloria snorted at that. "Shows what you know."

Taking the silence that followed as an opening, the older woman sighed and parked herself down on the edge of the bench that looked out onto the exercise yard. "Saw your mother earlier."

"She's here?"

There was no denying the spark of interest and, knowing Aleida's track record, Gloria couldn't blame the girl for her assumption. Lord knows she was surprised too that the fiery Latina was apparently managing to keep herself, if not quite on the straight and narrow, then at least outside prison walls.

"Visitation," she clarified. "She wants to see you."

"Yeah, right," Dayanara scowled, the sullenness quickly returning. "What's she want?"

"Did I stutter?" Gloria said, her threadbare patience unravelling fast. "To see you."

"But why? Why now? Why at all?"

"Because she's still your mother, Daya."

"She weren't ever that," came that harsh response, unwittingly echoing the very words Aleida had used and making Gloria shake her head, realising – not for the first time - that the pair were more alike than either of them cared to admit.

Daya turned away, lips pursed, tucking a blonde streak of her otherwise chocolate coloured hair back behind her ear. It was a clear signal their brief conversation was over. But Gloria wasn't having that. Not this time.

"Now, you listen to me," she started, waving off any attempt to shut her up. "No, you will at least hear me out. I know Aleida, and I ain't here to play it like she's perfect. Hell, she'd tell you herself she ain't no good at being a parent. But I know you too, Daya, and I see how shit's going in this place. You need someone on your side."

"I already got that-"

"No. No, you don't. You think you do, but you don't got shit. You got a bunch of bad bitches using you to do their dirty work. They're setting you up for a fall and, honey, they ain't gonna be there to catch your ass."

For a moment, seeing the younger woman's hesitation, Gloria thought she'd actually managed to get through to her. That she'd maybe confirmed something she already knew, or at least suspected. Then that face hardened and Daya rose to her feet, squaring off as if preparing for a fight.

"I got somewhere to be."

"Daya …"

"I don't need her and I don't need you interfering, all right? I'm calling the shots now. _Me._ And if you can't handle that …"

Gloria had to admit it might have worked, on a newcomer. She, on the other hand, was not prepared to be intimidated. Not by the soft-hearted, sometimes soft-headed girl she had treated like family.

"What? What you gonna do, huh? Thinking you're so badass. You're a silly little girl if you can't see what's happening here."

"I see you thinking you couldn't control your own kids, so now you gotta get all up in my face," Daya snapped. "Stay the hell away from me and stay away from my crew!"

"Your _crew?_ Oh no, you ain't that stupid. Those bitches ain't no crew, Daya. _Daya!_ "

But she was already storming off, leaving Gloria to watch her go and then tilt her face up to the clouds in defeat. " _Ay, dios mío._ "

* * *

"Jesus Christ," Dallas mumbled, mostly to herself, as she sank down right there on the front doorstep to watch Ryan's flash car peel away with an ill-tempered roar of the engine and screeching tyres. "Like getting stabbed in the face wasn't bad enough …"

"Yeah, that's, uh, quite the week you're having," Luschek said, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck.

"And it's not even Hump Day yet," she groaned, tilting her head back in despair and raking her hands through her hair before shooting him a wry glance. "Have I shattered your illusion yet? Of me?"

He laughed at that and sat down beside her to bump his shoulder lightly against hers. "Oh yeah, totally. I mean, finding out the stone-cold fox has some handsome hot-shot lawyer asshole pining for her? I'm shook."

She raised an eyebrow at his little description of her ex and Luschek, reading her reaction right, shrugged. "Hey, the guy's a dick, but even I can't deny he looks the part. That your type, huh? All smoulder and Armani?"

"Do you need a minute?" Dallas asked, something between a laugh and a glare threatening on her face. "Because it's starting to sound like maybe _you_ should marry him."

"So there's definitely a vacancy there?"

The counsellor glanced at him, a little frown knitting her brow at his too-casual question. "What, you think I'm some neurotic mess, overreacting and then just holding out on him or something? Making him sweat before I go running back? He _cheated_ on me, Joel."

"Hey, no, I get that. You just wouldn't be the first chick to … forgive and forget … I mean, fuck, I get attached and I ain't even come close to _marrying_ anyone. You must have … I dunno … loved him and shit."

"Yeah, well, turns out _and shit_ just about sums up our relationship. I loved him and he shit all over that. Don't get me wrong, I believe in second chances, broadly speaking - but I'm not a fucking mug. He might mean it when he says it was a mistake, but this wasn't some one-off like he's making out. He'd been screwing around for months. And I don't even think she was the first," Dallas sighed, breaking off to look at him again as they sat side by side on the steps of her front porch and managing a little smile. "I can practically see your brain working."

He shrugged at that. "I don't normally get credit for having one, so I guess that's good to know. So, what am I thinking then, Little Miss Mind-Reader?"

She met his gaze head on. "You're wondering if this explains it. If I'm some emotional mess, latching onto you because I'm on the rebound."

Luschek didn't try to deny it, glancing away and giving another little shrug. "Can you blame me?" he asked, trying to keep his tone light as he recalled his conversation with Nicky on the subject. "I mean, know your catchment, right?"

Dallas leaned back on her one good hand, long denim-clad legs stretching out in front of her as she seemed to consider what he was saying. "You do realise, for someone who's been all about kinda putting me on some kind of pedestal, you're pretty much just calling me a shallow bitch now?"

"What?! I'm not saying that-"

"Aren't you?" she asked, eyebrows raised, although there was humour in her green eyes at his apparent alarm. "Come on, Joel, you're clearly comparing yourself to Ryan and putting yourself down, but it works the other way too. If you think I couldn't be interested in you because you're not like him, then it's like you're saying I'm just swayed by the slick suits, the flash car, the high-flying job. But, d'ya know what? I loved him and he hurt me. He broke my trust and he really, _really_ hurt me. And none of that shit made up for it."

"I … I never meant …"

She smiled as she leaned in and planted a quick kiss on his cheek, like a little reassurance they were okay. "I know. Now, go to work - before they fire you for bunking off. Lawyers might not impress me much, but unemployed bum's not a great look either."

She stood and dusted down her jeans before making to go inside, calling back over her shoulder as he clambered to his feet and stopping him in his tracks.

"Oh, and Joel? You don't have to worry about all that girl-on-the-rebound crap. It's been six months since I left Ryan – I already got that out of the way over a dirty weekend with a wholly inappropriate guy I met in a bar. What can I say? Irish silver fox with a silver tongue to match … I'll see you at work."

Left staring at the door after it closed behind her, Luschek could only blink as he tried to process that, her parting naughty smirk seared on his brain. If his mind hadn't already been made up, that sealed it.

Ryan North – or Mr Sleazy Fuckbag, as he was going to refer to him in his own head – may have been a high-flying lawyer, but he was also a weapons-grade idiot.

Unquestionably.

* * *

 **To be continued ...**


	16. Pregnant Pause

**Author's Note: A million apologies that it's been forever! A lot of "real life" circumstances changed and, among other things, I've moved house and writing's been forced to take more of a backseat than I expected. Thanks to everyone who sent messages - I am hoping to continue with this from where I left off, despite the latest season obviously having answered the question of what would happen after the riot differently than I did during the wait for its release ...**

 **I will keep up with a mixture of familiar faces and the characters I've introduced, although this part will kinda address some perhaps unexpected connections and how some worlds may collide!**

 **As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts! Thanks for reading. T x**

* * *

 **16\. Pregnant Pause**

A hiss of pain turned into a harsh laugh and a groan of something closer to pleasure, her grip on the edge of the office table tightening. The stray earring that had sparked all this lay discarded again in front of her. If she'd known this was his idea of punishment, she wouldn't have bothered trying not to get caught.

"Harder," she growled breathlessly, only urging him on even as he fucked her mercilessly, her already short shirt bunched up around her hips and one hand fisted in the tangles of her hair. "What, that all you got?"

His grip on her hair tightened and twisted and she cried out as he thrust in and out of her, muttering expletives that only turned her on all the more. She didn't know what the fuck had gotten under his skin, but she decided she liked it. And she'd been getting bored of Mateo anyway.

Besides, fucking the boss instead of the driver was definitely a step up in the world.

"Jesus," she groaned. "Harder!"

The tug on her hair this time proved just on the wrong side of pain and she yelped in protest. "Hey, watch it!"

"Shut. Up."

She raised an oh-no-you-didn't eyebrow and moved to turn around to call him on that bullshit, but his hands clamped on her hips held her in place.

"You're forgetting … _I'm_ … the fucking … boss …" he ground out.

Boss. Ha. Like he gave a shit about her typing skills, or her ability to file shit or whatever it was secretaries were supposed to do. She was under no illusion exactly what he wanted from her. Someone to look good sat outside his office and keep those needy bitches he called clients at bay when he needed her to. Was he fucking them too? Probably. What did she care?

She was nobody's two-bit hooker though and she wasn't going to stand for being treated like one.

"Okay, we're fucking done," Aleida hissed.

Only to have his hips slow and his lips graze the back of her neck.

"Tell me to stop then," he said, seeming to regain some control as his voice lowered enough to send a shiver down her spine.

"I will …" she warned. "In a minute."

"In a minute," Ryan North echoed, with a dark smirk that didn't reach his still angry eyes.

He was used to getting his way. In the end.

* * *

Back behind his desk, straightening his tie and slicking his hair back in place, Ryan grimaced at the smug note in his secretary's voice over the intercom.

"Got a Vanessa here," she drawled, managing to make just the name sound like an insult as it rolled off her wickedly sharp tongue. "Says it's _personal_. Want me to … get rid?"

Even that sounded like she was thinking of a more permanent solution and he tilted his gaze towards the ceiling, wondering if he might actually have bitten off more than he could chew with the feisty Latina. He liked a bit of fire in his women, but somehow it seemed to backfire on him these days.

The last show of passion he'd had from Dallas had been her slinging his suits into the street and hollering at him to get the fuck out or else she'd torch his beloved Lexus. With him in the trunk.

Call him crazy, but it had been hot as hell.

If he'd thought he could talk her round, and he absolutely had, he'd been sorely mistaken though. The woman he was supposed to marry, once he'd finally decided it was time to settle down, hadn't let him within touching distance since. And the visit he'd hoped would finally convince her she'd made a mistake had only ended with her yelling at him and slinging some crazy accusations about silent phone calls. As if he was that damn petty …

Silent phone calls.

He'd had his own problems with unwanted calls and he could only wish they'd been silent. Nah, he'd had Vanessa blowing up his answerphone with her needy whining on a near daily basis once he'd tried to cool things off in the hope of getting Dallas back. Too bad she didn't seem the type to take a hint. And now, despite all his attempts to ghost her, here she was at his fucking _work_. And just when he'd thought she'd finally gotten the message and the calls had dried up.

Suddenly, all those assets that had turned him on so effectively just didn't seem worth the hassle.

Silent phone calls.

She wouldn't … Would she? She bloody would. Jesus.

"Did you fucking die in there?" Aleida demanded impatiently, cutting through his racing thoughts.

"Send her in."

"What? But you said before-"

"That you do as I say. Now send her in," he barked, already tense at the thought of seeing the woman who had cost him his fiancée after weeks … no, months … of successfully avoiding her. He braced himself, taking a deep breath and turning on the old North charm as soon as the door opened. "Vanessa – sorry, I've been so busy-"

"Me too," the platinum blonde said, her tone decidedly arctic as she stood tall in front of the very desk he'd been fucking his secretary on not an hour earlier. One perfectly manicured hand clutched an oversized purse, while the other rested on the swell of a stomach he remembered as distinctly toned through years of yoga.

Oh. This could be a problem.

* * *

"I'm not crazy."

Dallas eyed the defiant little Italian perched on the edge of her couch like she was about to take off at any second and thought the better of smiling. "No one's saying you are, Lorna. And I'm not here to … to trap you or trick you or anything like that. We're not going to talk about anything you're not comfortable with."

That was met with a scoff and an exaggerated roll of the eyes, but the counsellor thought that maybe a tiny bit of tension slipped out of those rigid shoulders. That was a start. She still had to get her talking though. If Nicky was right in her assessment, maybe that wouldn't be so hard. She just had to tread carefully.

"So …" Dallas said, after a moment's consideration, trying to look encouraging. "When are you due?"

"You're not taking my baby!"

Whoa, retreat. Wrong move. Definitely wrong move.

Dallas set down her notes and leaned forward in her seat in her sincerity, even if her latest referral would only glare at her from where she had jumped up and cringed away into the corner of the room. "Lorna," she said softly. "I'm not going to take your baby. Is that why you were so reluctant to give this a chance? You can tell me. It's better if we're honest with each other."

"I know you want to label me. That's what you people do. Tie people up in … in neat little boxes, whether they fit properly or not."

"Okay. Okay. Let's look at that for a second," Dallas said, keeping her voice even, calm. " _Crazy._ That's not a word professionals use-"

"Just 'cause you got a fancy word for it don't make it better."

The counsellor supposed she had a point. "Okay, let's put it another way. I'm not a psychiatrist. I'm not here to diagnose you with anything. I can make recommendations to the warden about support I might feel you need, whether I think there's anything you might be struggling with, things like that. But mostly, I'm here for you. Someone you can talk to in confidence. Unless I have reason to think you or someone else might be in danger - in which case, I have a duty to inform the warden. And I'm being straight up with you about that."

"So I'm supposed to believe you won't tell Fig I freaked out? That I'd be a bad mom if I can't even handle this?"

"Lorna, if a little freak-out meant not being fit to be a mom, no one would ever have kids," Dallas laughed gently, despite trying not to. "I promise you, this is just about doing everything we can to support you. Pregnancy can be tough – physically, mentally, emotionally. If you've got concerns, fears, we can talk those through. Stop things getting … too much. How does that sound?"

"Too good to be true," the brunette said, with a sharp little shrug. But she sat back down abruptly. "Nicky says you know your shit."

"Well, Nicky seems like she knows her shit too," Dallas shrugged easily. "So you think you might give me a chance? See if she's right?"

"Not like I got nowhere else to be," Lorna sniffed, deigning to get a little comfier on the couch and making her counsellor finally allow herself to give in to a hopeful smile. "So what d'ya wanna know?"

* * *

 **To be continued ...**


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